


Hammer Lodge

by lookingforatardis



Series: Charmie Ficmas 2018 [12]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Accepting Self, But also, Coming Out, First Love, First Time, Goodbyes, Growing Up, Holding Hands, Light Angst, Light Anxiety, Literal Sleeping Together, Love Confessions, M/M, Teen AU, The hammers are assholes what else is new, for now, holiday au, ski lodge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-09-23 04:21:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 50,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17073377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookingforatardis/pseuds/lookingforatardis
Summary: Armie's family runs a very successful ski lodge where he is expected to work every day and ensure the guests are comfortable. One holiday season, Timmy's family shows up and shifts everything on its axis.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> UHHH Okay first of all I suck at ficmas?? My semester was so insane I didn't sleep the last four days and consequently didn't write anything basically, and now I'm recovering from that. I'm making this up as I go but GUESS WHAT! I am incapable of sticking to a plan!! Which means this was supposed to be a fluffy one shot and a fluffy one shot it is not!!!! There are at least three parts to this, maybe four or even five who the hell knows it's a mess but I lowkey love it because of the d r a m a and heart to hearts that will result. It started off based on a prompt but is actually nothing like that prompt at all so.... enjoy lol

The fire was going out-- that was my excuse usually whenever new people walked in who were relatively close in age to me. The fire was dying and I needed to "tend" to it. My father would give me the side eye, but usually let it slide, told me to be quick. Tending to the fire just so happened to mean I could leave my post at the desk and wander out into the lobby of the lodge, say hello, bend down and sneak glances, eavesdrop. It was where most of my interaction came from during the days I had to work. Well, that and the evenings when it was more important that the guests felt comfortable than my parents' desire to keep me at bay; Dad usually let me have more freedom then, wandering around to charm the pants off them (not literally, un-fucking-fortunately). So when it's a slow morning, Vik insisting he just _had_ to go do an extra intro to skiing course because of all the families around, leaving me to my own defenses, I wander the lobby aimlessly and pray to God someone new walks through the door for some smidgen of entertainment.

I'm sprawled on the couch when the door chimes. I can hear my dad snap his fingers and wonder when he came back from break as I sit up and stretch. I make eye contact with him long enough to know I've disappointed him for slacking on the job, and stand to greet the newcomers.

And that's when I see him, a black duffel bag in one hand, a chunky backpack on one shoulder, gray beanie hiding half his curls, lip between his teeth. "Armand?" I glance over at my father, his eyebrows raised. "Would you help our guests." It's not a question. I nod and walk over to them, his parents already speaking to my father as they check in.

"Hey," I say. Had my hands always sweated slightly when greeting people? I can't remember now if it's normal to look into people's eyes or if it's more natural to shift focus, if it's alright to smile at strangers or creepy, should I be facing him or his parents? My collar feels tight.

"Hi," he nods, eyes skirting around the room after meeting mine for only a moment. I can't even remember what color they are, I _just_ saw them, I should remember, look back, look back, look--

"Armand, I won't ask again."

"Sorry, sir," I mutter, taking a deep breath. "Let me grab a cart." I wander away to get one of our luggage carts for their stuff to take to their room. When I return, his bags are on the floor next to his parents. I look around, finding him standing in front of the fire with his hands in his back pockets. I can't explain why I feel like looking at him right now feels important, but it does. He turns slightly, swaying on his feet, until his eyes shift over his shoulder and catch mine. There's a second where it doesn't affect me, but it's fleeting. My chest tightens and there aren't words to describe how anxious I feel when he doesn't look away. I have to for my own sake.

I start loading their luggage up and ask for their room. By the time I make it up on our staff elevator, they're already there. He's shedding a hoodie when I enter, his hair all over the place. Knowing I can't exactly waste time here without an explanation, I play nice like my father would want and accept the family's tip before excusing myself.

"I don't want to see you bothering them," Dad says when I return to the desk.

"What?"

"You heard me." I stare as he tidies up the cushions around the lobby. "Every time someone your age shows up, you become erratic and forget you work here."

"I also live here, what am I supposed to do? Ignore everyone--"

"You're supposed to do your job and do what's right. I would like to be able to trust you to handle this on your own. I have other things to see to, I don't want to babysit you."

"Yes, sir," I nod, looking away. It was the easiest way to shut him up, just agree.

"Let me know when your brother comes back, you two can trade shifts if that will be better for you to avoid the temptation to socialize."

"Yes, sir," I grit through my teeth. Typical, bring in Viktor to clean up after me. It was his go-to. His _and_ mom's.

It's hours before I see the family again. They disappear for a few hours to hit the slopes, and when they return, I only catch a glimpse before they're gone again. It's only enough to see his curls dampened slightly, snow dusting his legs and hat. I ask Viktor about them, and he shrugs, says they didn't need lessons or anything and went off on their own. He barely even had time to say hello.

They come down for dinner, linger afterwards. It's the one time I get to actually relax around here; Mom usually covers the evening shifts, something about a "nice motherly face" being a good sell to the latecomers. Homey, is what Dad says. I get to wander, interact with guests, but keep a respectful distance. (Even when I'm not on shift, my dad never ceases to remind me that I'm still a representation of Hammer Lodge, and am expected to act as such. Meaning I'm respectful, that I don't cross lines. That I "do the right thing" as he is always fucking griping about.)

"Hey," he says, approaching me as I help build the fire, my one duty that never stops even when I'm not working. The firewood in my hands stutters to the ground as I startle, my eyes meeting his as I look up and over my shoulder.

"Hi," I say, contemplating whether or not I should stand, how awkward it is that he's towering over me. He smirks, perhaps thinking the same thing, and nudges the firewood with his foot.

"Didn't mean to scare you," he chuckles softly.

"That's okay," I nod. It's weird that I can't look away, right? Definitely weird. It feels weird to still be staring into his eyes-- green, I try to catalog the information for later.

"So… you work here?"

"I do," I nod. Swallow. It's definitely weird that I'm still crouched down. He hums and looks around the place, hands in his pockets again.

"Need help?" he asks suddenly.

"Oh, um…" I look at the fireplace and then back at him. "Actually, I think I'd get in trouble if you did. I'm supposed to make your life easier, not the other way around."

"Hmm, hardass for a boss?" I laugh and nod at him, hoping my dad wasn't anywhere within earshot.

"You could say that."

"Well then I'm going to watch, if that's cool?"

"You're… why?"

"I'm bored," he shrugs with a small smile, as if he's trying to keep something from me. I swallow and take a steadying breath before nodding and looking back at the task at hand. I try to build the fire without stumbling at all, knowing his eyes are on me. I succeed, only in the sense that I accomplish in making a fire _eventually,_ though I'm not very graceful under his gaze. I lean back against the wall when it's done and look up at him where he sits in a chair across from me and the fireplace. "So… Armand, right?"

"Excuse me?" I laugh.

"Your boss, he called you Armand earlier."

"Oh…" I run a hand through my hair. "Yeah, well. It's Armie, please don't call me Armand," I smile sheepishly.

"Armie," he smiles. "I like that." I can't meet his eyes anymore and instead seek out something to distract from the way my stomach is knotting up. I find Viktor's eyes and try to figure out why he looks so amused. "I'm Timmy," the guy says, pulling my focus back.

"Hi, Timmy," I smile.

"Listen, I'm here for like a solid week and my sister normally comes with us to keep me sane on family trips but she couldn't this year so… I guess what I'm saying is are you always here? Because I could use a friendly face who isn't constantly asking about college applications."

"Yeah, I'm here," I say before thinking better of it. "I usually work during the days in here, but my evenings are off." _Why am I telling him this?_

"So you're off right now?" he clarifies. I nod. "Okay… show me around, then."

"You want a tour? Have you not seen it all?"

"I'm sure there's some stuff I haven't seen," he says, biting his lip. I look around to figure out where my father is and decide this might be worth it even if he sees. I motion for him to follow me and lead him past Viktor.

"If Dad asks, I'm giving a tour to guests. Keep an eye on the fire," I tell him. He smirks and nods as we walk past, but I try not to think about it or what I know is running through his head.

" _Dad_?" Timmy asks after we clear the lobby and head down a long corridor.

"Yeah… Armie Hammer," I say, gesturing at myself and glancing back at him.   
"This is _your_ lodge?" I nod. "Okay, wow. I mean… yeah, that makes sense."

"It makes sense?"

"Um… well." I look back at him. He's blushing and I try really fucking hard not to think about it, but I can't stop thinking about it. How his ears are red, his lips, too. He's just objectively attractive, that's fine for me to notice. Perfectly normal. Everyone notices attractive qualities in people. "I just, I have a friend who comes here every year and she said the Hammer family is all, like, you know. Gorgeous or whatever."

"I… _oh_ ," I say, taken aback.

"Yeah, um. Anyway. Okay cool. So you're… Makes sense, you know, because you work here during the day and stuff."

"Sure," I breathe, eyes stuck on the floor in front of me as we walk.

Two years ago, we had a family visit. They had twin sons, Matthew and Marcus, just a year older than me. Vik and I hung out with them after hours, back before Dad got strict with rules. One night, Matthew and I were walking through a hallway and grabbed my ass. He was nice about it, waited for me to react before he leaned in and kissed me, let me control the speed, backed off when I needed him to. Viktor walked up with Marcus and saw us, and he never let me live it down. I hadn't kissed a guy before that or since. I was a little scarred after Marcus told his parents, who told mine, and ended all privileges I had with interacting with guests. It didn't matter that I told them he started it, that it wasn't mutual, that I didn't _want_ to kiss him. They didn't care. And to be fair, I wasn't certain any of it was even true. It didn't take very many visits to the youth pastor to get it through my head that my parents wouldn't tolerate my lies being anything but the truth, though. We never mentioned it again.

I can see Timmy shuffle his feet and lag behind as we approach the stairwell at the end of the hall. "Look, I shouldn't have said anything about your family being gorgeous. I didn't mean to make it awkward. Can we start over?" he asks. There had been guests since Matthew that I was curious about, but never allowed myself to actually talk to them, to really pursue anything. It scared the shit out of me, just knowing I was one misstep away from probably being cut off and grounded forever. Timmy's staring at me though, and all I can think about is how it felt when Matthew pressed his body against mine, how it felt different from a girl's body, how it felt sturdy, and how Timmy's more slim, but he still looks fit. My head is spinning. _He thinks I'm cute_ , I keep thinking, over and over again. I can't stop the thought. I try to replace it with _I'm not gay_ but that's not exactly working for obvious reasons and because his eyes skim along my body and I can tell that I need to set a boundary line _now_ or I might say something I'll regret. "I'm not gay," I blurt out, but it makes my heart race. It sounds rehearsed to my ears. His eyebrows shoot up and I can see him swallow. I probably shouldn't notice that, shouldn't see the way his eyes shift focus over my face.

"Okay," he nods. "That's okay. I didn't say you were," he says softly. I like that, I like how his voice changes, how it sounds like he knows I'm teetering on some ledge. I step back from him and nod, trying to remind myself that it's okay to just enjoy the company of someone, you don’t have to _like_ them.

I try to avoid the thoughts in my mind as we walk up the stairs at a safe distance from each other. I take a deep breath at the top and pull on all my training to begin giving him a proper tour, but there's something there in the way he looks at me, or maybe how I look at him. Eventually, up two floors, I regain my composure and find he's actually pretty witty and with every step we take, it seems like we leave the awkwardness behind. Eventually, we run into his family and they tell him they should turn in for the night if they're to get up early the next day. I say goodbye and try to shake off the encounter.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A very necessary heart to heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I want to start by saying that I grew up /very (read: VERY) Christian. I know the exact kinds of people that are like Armie's parents, but I also know wayyy more Christians that are not like that. The way they are depicted in this story, the way they lean back on their religion to back themselves up and hurt Armie, is not indicative of how /I/ view religious people. I know some of you do and that's your own prerogative, but yeah. His family is particularly strict irl, and that's why I depict them this way. Okay go. 
> 
> also armie hammer's dad is so problematic irl so i dont have any regrets. but it's all fiction blah blah blah okay now go.

The next day, he smiles when he sees me midday, waves even. Viktor tells me he asked about me before heading out on the slopes and asks if this is my next conquest. I glare at him for the remainder of his break until he finally apologizes and heads back to the slopes. "I don't want you bothering the Chalamet's," Dad says a few hours later after they've all come inside. Timmy waited by the fire for awhile, Dad cornering me just as I was about to walk over. "They usually go to the lodge a few miles away, this is the first time they're here. Don't fuck it up," he says sternly. "They pay well and they have influence."

"What do you think I'm going do?" I ask, regretting it immediately. He stares at me for a second and smiles in the way I hate more than anything.

"Don't touch him," he says, his voice eerily calm, though his eyes dig into me like blades. "They're a good family. They don't need you hanging around their son trying to corrupt him. You will be respectful." I stare at the wall until he leaves, jaw clenched to keep my lip from quivering at the implications of my father's words.

Later, I notice the Chalemt's in the lounge and see my mother talking animatedly with them, her eyes meeting mine in a warning. I turn and wander the halls to avoid them. Ever since Matthew, my parents had never passed up an opportunity to remind me how sinful it is to be gay, regardless of how many times I tell them I'm not. Once a sinner, always a sinner, I guess. They refused to say his name, to acknowledge what I'd done, but they sure as hell weren't shy about telling me how they felt about people who are gay. It became a weird mind game where they'd talk to me about it without actually _talking_ to me about it. Asking me things like, _how do you think people like that can live with themselves?_ Or, _aren't you glad you don't have to worry about that?_ There were nights where I'd lay in bed and think about it, wonder if they were going to think I was gay forever regardless of what I did, if it would be better to just lean into it. If a cute guy that showed up at any point in time showed interest, if it was better to just prove them right, show them their words had no effect, that they couldn't control me. Then I'd see some pretty girl and think it wasn't worth it when they had no problem with me going off with her, no problem at all with me flirting openly with female guests, staying out late with them. They encouraged it, even. Why make it harder on myself?

But Timmy. I wasn't sure what to think, what to feel.

Hours must pass because I lose track of where I am, not realizing I'm on his floor. I turn a corner and stop when I see him leaving his room, his eyes meeting mine. He lifts a hand to wave and I return the gesture. "Are you going to ignore me again?" he asks as he walks towards me.

"My parents are really strict," I tell him when he stops in front of me. "They don't want me to talk to you."

"And you always do what your parents tell you?" he asks. I would suspect there's a level of judgement there, but I can't detect it at all in his voice. He sounds genuinely inquisitive, not harsh at all.

"I don't really have any other options," I tell him honestly. He nods and looks away from me. "I'm not exactly living up to their expectations. Talking to you… I guess it makes it worse." I'm shocked at my own ability to speak freely, but there's something about his easygoing personality that makes me want to talk.

"I won't tell if you won't," he says, staring at the wall before glancing back with a smile. I don't know what he means exactly, what he's implying. I don't know if he just means he won't say anything if we talk, or if he anticipates something else entirely, which sets my blood on fire. I don't know if he knows that in my mind his promise covers everything, covers emotions I shouldn't have and attraction that isn't allowed. I wonder if he knows that I fell asleep thinking about him blushing, or woke up wondering how many years he'd been skiing. _I'm not gay, I'm not gay_ , I tell myself, knowing it's what my parents would want me to think, probably my brother, too. Knowing it's what they consider "right." But he stares into my eyes and I think his are probably the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen. The more time that passes the more difficult it is to think clearly, objectively. I know I'm not straight. I've always known. I don't know if he is, I realize suddenly. I've just assumed he wasn't, but maybe he is. Maybe it doesn't matter. Maybe he is entirely irrelevant in this equation, maybe it's just time I stop being afraid to acknowledge who I am, even to this stranger who doesn't seem to care that I'm being weird. Who doesn't seem to shy away from anything or anyone.

"Okay," I nod, taking a risk. He seems to relax, but I didn't even realize he was tense. "Want to walk? I can finish the tour," I offer, my voice sounding foreign in my ears. He nods with a slow smile and tells me to lead the way. We wander the floor for a moment before I take him up some stairs, an idea sprouting in my mind. He puts me at ease even if he also makes me nervous, and I know if I'm going to try to talk to him, I can't do it in the open or I'll risk the hired staff seeing and telling my parents how their son was a fumbling idiot trying to talk to some boy.

 On the top floor, we near a secret alcove and I reach out to grab his arm to pull him towards it, knowing he'd miss it otherwise. I ignore the feel of his shirt between my fingers. "This way, trust me." When we step in, there's a sofa with a rug in front of it, followed by floor to ceiling windows overlooking the slopes. There's only the glow of a single lamp and the lights outside reflecting off the snow, creating a sort of hazy golden hue in the alcove. "This is my favorite place. Most guests don't know about it unless they've been around for a long time. We don't include it in tours or anything. It's one of those secret little perks people like to find on their own."

"It's stunning," he says, wandering to the windows. He stares outside for a few minutes, watching the snow fall. " _Fuck_ , man. This is so beautiful."

"I know," I smile, staring at him. He turns and smiles at me as he leans back against the window.

"Listen, Armie…" he starts. I know immediately the conversation is about to veer off somewhere I don't want it to, but can't think of a way to stop it. Maybe this was the point all along, anyway. Maybe I wanted this to happen, for him to say something, to push me out of my comfort zone. Maybe I needed this. I try not to freak out when his eyes seem to drift along my body. I try everything in my power to not do the same. "I want to say I'm sorry for yesterday. Especially knowing about your parents and that I'm… making things complicated for you. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable, I promise."

"I know you didn't." I sigh and wander over to sit on the couch for stability. "It's not that…" I stumble and feel my ears warm. "I appreciate the compliment," I say quietly. "I just, can't really accept it, I guess."

"You can't accept the compliment? What does that mean?" he asks, pushing off the wall of windows to sit at the other end of the couch. I stare outside.

"It's not that I _can't accept_ it, I guess. I'm flattered, if you know… If _you_ think I'm…"

"Gorgeous," he whispers. It leaves me breathless, so I just nod as I steady my mind and breathing.

"It's just complicated. I can't really _accept_ the compliment, or… do anything… about it." I glance at him nervously.

"Because I'm… a guy?" he guesses.

"Yes."

"That's a bit archaic, Armie," he says, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "You can't accept a compliment from a guy?"

"No, I just…" I look over at him to find him already staring. "It's not that _I_ can't. I'm not explaining this right. My parents…"

"You're afraid of what they think?" he guesses.

"I'm still dependent on them," I say, surprising myself at the honestly. "When I go to college it won't matter as much," I shake my head. "But for now… I know it's archaic, okay? And for the record, I don't care if you… you know. _Compliment_ me." I clear my throat and keep my eyes trained on the snow falling. I feel like I might throw up or cry, but I do neither. "But they would. A lot."

"They don't approve." I glance over and feel my body tighten in on itself, butterflies in my stomach. "Of… you accepting compliments from guys," he says, nodding slowly. My heart is pounding violently in my chest as if I were being chased, and my head feels a little dizzy just thinking about what it is we're actually talking about. We're speaking in code, I realize. I wonder at what point he knew, at what point I knew, that we were talking about this, that we would end up talking about this. Did he know the moment he saw me? Did I give off a vibe that made him think it was okay to talk to me like this? Did _he_ give off a vibe that I somehow just understood without meaning to? How did we come to this conclusion that we would both be able to speak this way and inherently understand what the other truly meant, the gravity of the conversation? I've never spoken like this before with anyone. Acknowledging any of this, anything I might feel about myself, has never been allowed. I was always the strong kid, the one that would take over the business, have a wife and kids. There was no room for me to be anything other than a clone of my father. No room at all to even think about being different. Until now. I stare at him and contemplate his statement, what he's really saying. He looks so fucking nice. Like I could say anything. Like I could be anything.

"No, they don't," I shake my head. It's the first time I've ever really even danced around the subject verbally. "Do yours?"

"They don't care, I'm lucky."

"I don't even know if they… you know. _Should_ approve…" I swallow. "I mean, I don't know if I… you know. I mean I _think_ I am but…" I can't bring myself to say it, something stops me. Years of repression, probably. 

"You're still figuring it out," he nods. "I understand. It's different for everyone. Having parents who don't approve can't make that easy."

"No," I shake my head, almost laughing at the thought. "There was just this thing a few years ago," I say. "They flipped out… I don't know. I guess you could say they don't want me to figure it out. And now they don't… trust me. With guests. Which is why they don't want me to talk to you at all."

"A thing with a guy?"

I nod. My hands are shaky. He doesn't look phased at all, this isn't weird to him _at all._ I think about Viktor asking me right after the thing with Matthew and how he tried really hard to be understanding but ultimately looked a little grossed out. "It wasn't like we got very far," I say, face burning. "But they found out and…"

"Look, I don't want to push you or anything. If you're figuring this stuff out, you know… I don't want to push you." I look over and see him staring at his hands, concern on his face. "I just, I remember, you know? Figuring it out and being kind of scared before I had support. I know it's terrifying."

"Yeah," I nod, heart in my throat. "Jesus, I've never…" I laugh suddenly, the anxiety and nervous energy caused by the conversation bubbling up and over. "I've never actually talked about this with anyone."

"Really?" he smiles, meeting my eyes. "You're a pro."

"Shut up," I laugh, running a hand through my hair.

"Okay, just for the record, I feel like I should say this. Certainly, we don't have to keep talking about it if you don't feel comfortable saying it out loud, but I do think it's important I say this since you've never talked to someone, okay? And because I don't know if you have anyone else who's going to tell you this." I nod slowly and chew on the inside of my cheek nervously. "Armie. I'm gay," he says, smiling softly. "And that's okay. I like guys, I think I like _you_ , and that's _okay._ Even if some people don't think it is, even if some people think it's wrong. Even if your parents think it's wrong. I know who I am and I know I exist for a reason, and so do _you_. No matter what it is you feel, or for whom." I can't look away when he finishes, my eyes filling with unexpected moisture. "You're _not_ a mistake, Armie. You're not wrong." I nod and take a deep breath to try to stave off the emotion I feel suddenly, but struggle. "Okay?" he asks quietly, his voice softer than I thought it could be, his hand reaching out to rest on my forearm. "And I know that you feel a little trapped, right? But that's your circumstance right now, not forever. Things change and you'll see that there are a _lot_ of people out there who will embrace you no matter what. You can count me among them."

"Why are you being so nice to me? You don't even know me," I whisper, my voice weaker than I anticipated.

"Armie," he sighs. "Why wouldn't I be?" I sniffle and look away. "A few years ago, I got outted. I didn't get to choose how I came out, I didn't get time to figure out if I was ready, just like you and that guy. But I got lucky, I had people who could tell me all these things when I was freaking out and felt like everything was falling apart. And I know we don't know each other that well, but I can tell you're trying to push some part of you down so no one can see, and I've been there and I know that you didn't have someone who told you it was okay so I am telling you, Armie, because you deserve to know. You're nice, and you're funny, and I can tell that you have a big heart. You deserve to know that there's nothing wrong with you for feeling this way. Being gay can't negate all the good, no matter what your parents tell you."

"Fuck," I mumble, focusing on the snow outside. "I need a minute," I say, trying to gather myself. I can't stop my heart from beating out of my chest. I take a series of deep breaths and calm myself down. I think about the snow falling, how it caught on his beanie the day before and made his dark curly hair more prominent. I can't tell if I like him or if I just feel attached now after everything he's said. I glance back and wonder if it matters either way when the sight of him makes my heart race regardless. He smiles gently and extends a leg towards mine to nudge it.

"I know your dad doesn't want you to talk to me, but maybe we can hang out when he isn't around? If you want, no pressure. We can just talk, or watch the snow or something. You seem like you could use someone on your side for once. And for the record, I meant it yesterday when I said it would be nice to have someone to talk to this week." He sounds unbearably vulnerable suddenly, almost hesitant. The need to reassure him in some small way after he reassured me is overwhelming.

"Yes," I nod. With another steadying breath, I feel a little more in control. "I can sneak away before my shifts or after. Or if you hang out in the lobby during the day, but he might notice if you do it too much."

"Alright," he smiles. "I don't think we're skiing in the morning, so maybe I'll read a book by the fireplace, or something." I nod and feel something building in my chest, some sort of heady pressure I can't identify. I wonder suddenly if he's ever kissed a guy, if he wants to kiss _me_ , if that would be okay, if it's too soon, if I'm way ahead of myself. If I'll ever see him again when he leaves.

"Thank you, for everything." It's all I can say, I have no fucking clue how to properly express what I'm feeling for him right now. An overwhelming sense of gratitude, of affection.

"Of course," he says. I look back out the windows. We sit there for another couple of minutes as the snow falls before he gets a text from his parents asking where he is. We stand so I can walk him back to his floor, but he stops me before we exit the area. I feel my heart beat quickly as he looks up at me with a small smile and wraps his arms around my neck. My body goes slack instantly with his touch, my arms looping around his waist as my head falls against his shoulder. I can feel us breathing together and it makes my head spin with how good it feels to hold him like this. He's shorter than I am but taller than any girl I've ever held, and he fits so well against my chest that it almost makes my body ache for the moment I know he'll walk away. His fingers slip into my hair, tickling me just a little, and I can't help that my arms tighten. He lets out an _oof_ and a little chuckle before I loosen my arms and apologize. When he pulls back, his hands slip along my shoulders, biceps, down my forearms. I feel like I'm being electrocuted but I can't tell him to stop because I also feel _alive_. He bites his lip when he sees me staring at it and I know I'm blushing but I don't care anymore. Just like that, he drops my hands crosses his arms over his chest. I realize for the first time that perhaps he's self-conscious, too, that maybe a lot of this is new for him, not just me. The way he talks about it, about _himself_ \-- I just assumed he'd had so much more experience, but maybe not. It makes me want to spend even more time with him. He feels safe.

I walk him to his door and hug him again, this time his arms around my waist. It doesn't last nearly long enough before he disappears into his room, and I turn to walk to the elevator to go to mine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TIMMY ALMOST NEVER GETS TO BE /THE/ STRONG HERO WHICH IS SAD THEREFORE IN THIS I WILL MAKE TIMMY THE STRONG HERO, WELCOME TO MY TED TALK


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um so I wrote this chapter and it was like 4k so I decided to split it but good news that means the next chapter is already written so there will definitely be an update tomorrow..

"What's going on?" I pause in the doorway, my hand still on the frame. "Armie? Just tell me, I won't tell them."

"Nothing."

"Oh come on, did I not tell you when I fooled around with that girl last week?"

“I never asked, Vik," I roll my eyes and shut the door with a deep breath. I shrug out of my sweater and take my shoes off.

"Okay, fair. But. What's going on? It's the Chalamet guy, right?"

"Can we not?" My voice shakes.

"Oh my god, you really are gay, aren't you! You like him!" I hear Timmy's voice in my head telling me how he didn't get to choose how he came out. I think about all the things out of my control, how I wasn't able to control my first experience as much as I would have liked, how it spiraled. I think about Viktor's excited eyes at the prospect of finally getting an answer after all these years to his most burning question, _does my brother like dick?_

"Viktor," I warn, turning towards him. "I will talk to you when I am ready," I tell him, armed with newfound strength from Timmy's words.

"But—"

"This isn't _about you_ ," I say, turning on him. "This has _nothing_ to do with you."

He stares at me so long I feel my resolve slipping, my old habits returning. I feel myself putting up walls, creating masks to hide myself. "Sorry," he mutters, looking away. "I’ll drop it." I sigh in relief and walk away towards my room in our suite, thanking god my parents couldn't hear with their suite far enough away from ours.

Alone at last, I stare at my ceiling and think about everything that happened, everything Timmy told me. We had couples come through sometimes who were gay, but I'd never allowed myself to really think about a future being gay. About the possibility of meeting someone someday and actually _being_ with them, of being out and not caring that other people could see me smiling at another man. It just didn't happen here, not in my life, not with the people I knew. I didn't know _anyone_ who was out, and I think that was strategic on my parents' part.

It felt so fucking good to finally be able to breathe and not give a shit about what the person across from me would think. It felt so nice to finally just look at another guy and not worry if I was being rude, if I was looking too long, if I was being _wrong._ He was so nice, so fucking nice. I think about his parents, how they just let him _be_. Staring out the window, I wonder how different things would be if I'd never been caught with Matthew. Would I have embraced this earlier if my parents weren't yelling at me about the perils of sin? Would I have let it go and written it off as a mistake? Would I still be so drawn to Timmy?

I fall asleep thinking about him for the second night in a row, wondering what he saw in me.

The next morning, I have a realization as I start the fire in the lobby before guests start wandering around. Mom fucking _loved_ it when I spoke to the parents of people, she says I have "excellent people skills" and should use them more often. If they want the Chalamet's to be regular visitors, then it only makes sense that they'd want me to put forth the extra effort to make sure they felt comfortable. I can't talk to Timmy when Dad is around, but I sure as hell can talk to his parents.

I watch as they walk down the staircase, chatting amicably. Mr. Chalamet puts his arm around Timmy's shoulders and laughs. I'm transfixed when Timmy grins and tries to shake him off, only making Mr. Chalamet mess with his hair before releasing him. Mrs. Chalamet fusses over him momentarily, which makes him roll his eyes. All this happens on the last few stairs as they walk towards the hall leading to the dining area. He meets my eyes and smiles with a nod, the only acknowledgement I know I'll get until I initiate. I smile back, completely taken aback by the blatant display of, of _fondness_ his family shows towards one another. "Armand? It's supposed to be frigid today. I assume many guests will be indoors. Viktor will be helping at the counter so I can handle business in the back. I don't want to see that fire go down. Your mother should be telling the kitchen to make more cider, you need to make sure that's available for the guests. We're offering it as a complimentary drink today to make up for the weather. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," I say, looking into my father's eyes. "I'll make sure the guests are comfortable."

"Good," he nods with a somewhat forced smile, or at least, to me it _seems_ forced after watching Timmy's family. He walks away and leaves me to work.

People start milling about shortly after the fire gets going and Viktor tells me he's sorry for the night before. I try not to think about it but appreciate his apology; I wasn't expecting it. I try to rearrange out bookshelves, pulling books I know are more popular on days like today so I can leave them on the coffee tables scattered about. I make small talk with a few guests for a while before I see his family walk back into the large lobby/lounge area. His parents are holding hands and he's talking to them about something. It feels like I'm watching some sort of movie as they move about the room, his mom saying hi to numerous guests who I guess she made friends with the day before. I look around to make sure my parents are absent, smiling a little when I see even Viktor is distracted, and make my move. I walk over to them as they begin heading towards me, and we end up close to the fireplace. This way, if someone comes looking for me, it looks like I'm working. I smile at Timmy, my stomach doing flips when he smiles back. I say hello to them in my best customer service voice and try to make eye contact with each of his parents. "This is Armie," Timmy says, gesturing to me from a few feet away. "He's the Hammer's son."

" _Oh_ , hello. I was speaking with your brother yesterday, Viktor?"

"Yes, ma'am," I nod at his mom.

"He was very nice. He mentioned he had a brother, but I had no idea that was you. I saw you in here yesterday speaking with some other guests. Now I wish I'd said hello!"

"It's alright, ma'am," I smile.

"Timothée tells us you're a senior in high school, is that right?" _Timothée_? I blush at the sound of his full name. I don't know what I was expecting, Timothy I guess, definitely not _that._ By the time my mind catches up to the beating of my heart, I realize this means he talked about me, probably over breakfast. Not only that, but this is the first time I'm meeting his parents formally, the first impression I'll actually leave them with. I wonder if he knows I have a crush on his son. That's what this is, I accept it now: a crush. I can't exactly deny it anymore, this is how people always describe feeling, so it must be a real crush. I clear my throat.

"Yes, sir. That's right."

"Timothée is as well. I'm sure you have a lot in common," he smiles.

"We didn't get much of a chance to really talk, Dad," Timmy says with a small smile. "It was mostly chitchat. He doesn't get many breaks."

"Oh, well," his dad laughs. "I guess it takes a lot to run a place this nice," he smiles at me. "I hope we're not interrupting your work."

"No, sir. Actually, this is part of my job," I say, cringing a bit as I say it. "I mean, talking to guests is. Making sure they're enjoying themselves."

"Well you're doing a fine job," his mother says, a hand on her husband's arm.  I feel myself warm at her words and glance at Timmy only to find him smiling down at his feet.

"Would any of you like some cider? It's complimentary today," I say, eyes drifting away from him slowly.

"Oh, that would be so wonderful. Thank you, sweetheart," his mom says. "Marc? Do you want some?"

His dad, Marc I guess, nods and gestures to Timmy. "Why don't you help him? I don't want him to have to carry over three mugs," he says smoothly, smiling discretely at his wife. _They know_. My eyes dart to Timmy and I feel myself warm. _They know, they know, they know they know they know._

"Okay, sure. If that's okay? I don't want you to get in trouble," Timmy says, meeting my eyes. I shrug, unable to say anything. He looks back at his parents with a nod and we start walking towards the cider station we've set up in the corner of the room. "Hey, you can calm down," he says softly once we're out of ear shot. "They don't know about you."

I look over at him and swallow hard. "Are you sure?"

"I mean, they're not stupid. They probably know I have a crush on you," he says easily. It makes me blush as we approach the cider, and I'm grateful for an excuse to distract myself from his words. "I didn't say anything about what we talked about, though. This is just them trying to give me a chance," he laughs. "It has very little to do with you actually."

"Jesus," I mutter, looking at him in disbelief. "My parents would marry me off to the nice rich girl down the street in a heartbeat and your parents are trying to help you flirt with some random guy they think you _might_ like?"

"Basically, yeah," he laughs, rubbing his neck. "They don't want me to miss out on anything. I told you, I know I'm lucky." Another couple walks over to the station to grab cider and I greet them casually, ask them if they need anything else. When they walk away, Timmy and I grab the ciders for his family and walk back over to them. "Oh, and my mom's name is Nicole. Just so you know. She didn't introduce herself but. Yeah. Nicole and Marc."

"Oh, thanks. Yeah, I was kind of nervous, I didn't ask," I admit before we reach them.

"I know," he smiles. "Don't be nervous." I glance at him when he says it, see his small smile, and have to fight my own. _Easy for you to say_ , I want to tell him. But it doesn't really matter, because yeah, it's easy for him to say, but under any other circumstance just him saying that would make me a nervous mess and instead it calms me down.

"I'm going to go wander," he says when we reach his parents again. I look at him for a moment, confused, before my eyes skirt around the room and spot my Dad walking into the lobby. _He's looking out for me_ , I think. It makes me smile when he leaves to talk to someone else, leaving me alone with his parents.

"I'm sorry about that, his manners must have disappeared," his mom laughs, shrugging.

"It's alright, I'm sure I'll catch him later," I say, biting back my smile to keep it at bay. "Where are you folks from?"

"New York, did he not tell you that?" Marc asks over a sip of cider. His eyes close momentarily before smiling at me. "This is wonderful," he motions to the mug.

"I'll let the kitchen staff know," I smile.

"We know this little tea shop in the city we go to sometimes in the winter, they don't have cider on the menu but we know they make it. This is a close match," Nicole says, glancing around, perhaps to spot Timmy. _Timothée_.

"I've only been once," I say, putting thoughts of him aside. If there's one thing I can do, it's small talk with strangers, and this feels like the closest I can get to him so I won't waste the opportunity. "Loved it, though. I think I'm probably a city guy." This makes Marc smile and I feel a little proud.

"Ah, you sound like my son. We spend our summers visiting my side of the family in France, I'm sure he forgot to mention that, too, hmm?" I nod, though my heart starts picking up speed. French, he's French. I wonder if he speaks it, he probably does with a name like _Timothée_. I have to ask him, I hope he does. "Anyway, it's a small town, a village really. He enjoys it but says the city is home, go figure," he laughs with a good-natured eye roll.

"I grew up in Dallas and the Cayman Islands, not quite France but I understand the feeling of split lives in different places," I nod. "Each place is home in a different way."

"Hmm, yes that seems to be the case," Marc says. He looks thoughtful, I think that's a good sign.

"How on earth did you end up here?" Nicole asks. "If you don't mind me asking."

"It's a long story." I turn at the sound of my father's voice, his hand coming down on my shoulder with an easy smile. "Hi, I'm Michael Hammer. How are we this morning?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shout out to everyone waiting on these updates! I'm so glad there's so much support for this lil fic <3

I swallow and try to match his smile, knowing it's what's expected of me, _especially_ in front of guests. Marc seems to be calmly assessing the situation, but Nicole smiles, unphased, unguarded. I'm not sure much surprises her, she strikes me as the type that takes everything in stride with grace.

"We're doing well. Your lodge is stunning," she says. "And the cider is a nice touch today."

"Yes, we were just getting acquainted with your son. Both your sons, actually; we met Viktor yesterday. You have quite the family, Mr. Hammer," Marc says. "You should be proud."

"Oh, I am," he laughs, patting my shoulder. _Lies_ , I think, but don't dare say anything. "They get all their charm from their mother, have you met my wife yet?"

"Oh yes, Dru. Lovely," Nicole says, glancing at me.

"Well, I was just coming to check in on Armand. It's a busy day today," Dad says with a smile and shrug of his shoulders that seems to say _you know how it is_ , and then uses his hand that's still on my shoulder to turn me. "If you don't mind," he says, but it's not a question. "It was nice to meet you. Please, help yourself to some snacks and enjoy yourselves on this cold day. Let us know if there’s _anything_ we can do to make your stay more enjoyable." We begin walking away a few feet before he stops me and brushes the edges of my sweater's shoulders. "You're speaking to the Chalamet's?" His voice is calm and it sets me on edge.

"Vik told them he had a brother. They wanted to meet me," I tell him. "I thought you and Mom wanted them to come back, I'm trying to help." I take a shallow breath. I’ve done this before, this is no different. Play into his hand to get something back in return. Easy. "You know how these families are, Dad. They like to feel important. Talk to the owner…. The owner’s sons…" It's not wrong, most families with the Chalamet's status wanted just that. He seems to think for a moment before smirking, his hands gripping my arms briefly. It feels like a stern warning, but his eyes aren’t hard.

"Now that's what I like to hear, Armand. I'm glad you're finally thinking about the business side of things. Just don't get distracted, understood?"

"Yes, sir. Of course," I nod, exhaling.

"Go on. The storm is only going to get worse and the more time passes—"

"The more restless guests get. I know, sir. I'm pulling books and I'll check in with the kitchen like you asked."

"Good. Keep them happy, I don't need you losing focus today."

"I understand," I say, trying to appease him. He doesn't seem that upset, and I need to keep him that way. After another moment, he pats my back and walks away to speak with one of our frequent guests before disappearing into the back offices. I can feel my entire body relax in his absence with the added comfort of knowing my initial plan worked and I'll be able to talk to Timmy's family without judgement.

I look around the room, scanning for anything I might need to be doing to avoid any scolding from my parents, and see Timmy across the way.

His eyes are on me, a tattered copy of a book from our bookshelves in his hands as if he had been reading, though it's open halfway through so I doubt he actually was. His lips curl up into a small smile and his shoulders shift a little, his lip slipping between his teeth and back into place. He looks so nice, like he fucking belongs here in his knit pullover and jeans. His body shakes twice as if something was funny and he looks down, tries not to smile. His fingers lift to his hair and linger, and he looks back up, my breath catching. God. Damn. He's so fucking cute, I can't even believe there would be a single part of me able to deny how _cute_ he is right now. I watch as he tears his eyes away from me to stare at the fire, then back at me, then back at the fire. I take the hint and start walking towards what is quickly becoming our place, making it there a few moments before him. I crouch down to pull back the guard and push a few logs around to make the flames larger for something to do while I wait.

"Hey stranger," I hear. I smile towards the fire. "I think my parents are in love with you," he laughs.

"I liked them," I nod, glancing back. He's taken a seat in a nearby chair, the book he's not reading open in front of his face. He looks over the pages to smile at me. "So…" I start. He lifts an eyebrow and it makes me laugh. He's _so_ fucking cute. "Timothée, huh?" I say, knowing I'm butchering the pronunciation. He ducks behind the book and shakes his head. "I didn't know you were French."

"I didn't know it mattered," he says quietly. "Of course that's the part you picked up from that conversation," he chuckles softly.

"How do you say it? I want to say it right," I tell him. I shift to sit back on my heels as he peers over his book at me, a fucking stunning blush on his cheeks. I feel drunk looking at him like this, like I don't care if he sees that I'm looking. His attention is downright intoxicating.

He says his name slowly, staring at me. I repeat it back a few times until I get it right and he smiles through it all. "Okay, okay. I think you got it. Please stop now," he laughs, scratching his neck.

"Why?"

"Because it's hot when you get it right," he says matter-of-factly, not even bothering to look at me when he says it. I fumble, my mind a blurry mess. I had never met anyone like him, not even close. I've never spoken to someone who was so comfortable with who they are, so willing to admit attraction, let alone a man with another man. He glances up at me and smirks. "Cat got your tongue?" he says just loud enough for me to hear.

"I, um," I mumble. I can feel my face turning pink. "I'm just not used to this," I say honestly.

"To what? Being complimented? Armie, we've been over this," he smiles gently.

" _No_ , I know," I grin back, feeling a little confidence at the reminder. "It's the... flirting. You're just so different from anyone I've ever met. You're so honest."

"Well, so are you," he says, putting the book down.

"Only with you." I don't really _mean_ to say it, but it comes out anyway. He looks down, his curly hair falling a little towards his eyes. The more time I spend in his company the more I realize I like about him. Like how soft his hair looks, or how his hands aren't as tired as mine, or his collarbone juts out a little from his sweater. Or how he talks to me like he isn't intimated. Like he knows more than me, but isn't a dick about it.

"When do you have a break?" he asks, looking up at me suddenly. I try to think about my schedule and shrug.

"I guess I can take one pretty soon, actually. I just have to let Vik know."

"Will you meet me in that place you showed me?"

My heart starts racing, and I know I nod only because he smiles and nods back, not because I can feel it. My entire body starts screaming at me, nervous excitement coursing through my veins at the prospect of being alone with him, of being able to talk and not wonder if anyone will overhear. I walk away from him on jelly legs and go to make the rounds in the room so it's less suspicious. Timmy disappears shortly after, and I wait as long as I can before wandering back towards Viktor.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MERRY CHRISTMAS EVE!!! Happy holidays yall. Next chapter tomorrow <3

Matthew's eyes were dark brown. When he kissed me, I kept thinking  _ this is wrong, so wrong, _ but his hands were warm and he smelled like our peppermint hot coco and it felt exciting to feel wanted, to feel seen by someone like him. He held onto my shoulders when we kissed, nothing like I expected considering it started because he got handsy and bold while we walked down an abandoned hallway. He didn't speak to me the next day, or the day after that. When he left, he smiled and told me he would never forget me, and I remember being so damn confused at how he could say it with so much confidence when he didn't have an issue avoiding me for days.

I take the staff elevator to the top floor, no patience for stairs. Alone with my thoughts, I feel the nerves build in my stomach. Timmy is nothing like Matthew, I tell myself. And it's true, I know it is. Because not once did Matthew ever give me an indication of his feelings before that fated walk down the hall, and Timmy hasn't wasted a single opportunity to tell me he likes me. The elevator doors open and I take a deep breath as I walk down the hall, heart racing. I think of his father, of my own, of my brother and our mothers. Of his sister I haven't met, would I ever meet her, did it matter, was I getting ahead of myself yet again?

I rest my hand on the hidden door frame as I turn the corner to see him standing there, hands in pockets facing the windows, holding the room together with ease. I know when he turns he will smile, his green eyes will meet mine. I wonder if he'll get shy now that we're alone or if he'll be just as bold, if he'll say things that make it hard to breathe or if he'll let me do the talking.

I wonder if he'll kiss me, if I'll like it.

He turns, perhaps sensing my presence, and grins. "Hey," he says. The sound of his voice makes me want to lean in, capture more of it with proximity.

"Hi." My own voice is too formal, I think. Too… something. It's not like his and I wish it was.

"Come here," he laughs. "You're too far." I feel my feet carry me towards him slowly, my hands itching to run through my hair. "Better," he smirks. I think he knows I'm nervous, which is embarrassing until I see him shift and think he might be, too. "Do you want to sit?" he asks quietly.

"Yeah, I think that might be good," I nod, hoping it'll settle the feeling building in my chest.

"Armie," he says with a glance at me as we sit towards the center of the couch. "I make you nervous, don't I?"

"Yes," I laugh, biting my lip. I can't meet his eyes, which I guess only proves the point.

"Good nervous?" I look over now, a bit confused.

"Yes," I nod.

"You make me good nervous, too," he admits, sitting on his hands.

"Yeah, right."

"No, really! You do, my heart is racing," he tells me. "Here—" He takes my hand and pulls me closer, rests it against his chest. His fingers are warm from being under his thighs, his palm soft against my hand. The steady beat of his heart picks up on contact with my hand, tingles spreading across my shoulder blades and down my spine the longer he holds it there. I could slip my eyes shut and sleep right now, drift off to the feeling of his heart under my hand, his breath in my lungs, fingers at my wrist. His eyes are so beautiful, and I knew they were beautiful, but they're  _ so beautiful _ . I can't help but look down at our hands on his chest, the spaces our skin touches over his sweater. He drops my hand suddenly so it falls between us, his hand still touching mine. When I look up at him for some sort of explanation, he just smiles and leans back a little so his head rests against the couch. He looks so comfortable; I envy him.

"I want to know everything about you," he whispers, his smile fading but somehow still lingering around his eyes.

"No you don't," I shake my head. "I'm boring."

"I beg to differ." His eyes narrow and I watch as he tries to decide something before he drops his eyes to our hands between us, his fingers still lightly resting against mine. I want to move them with intent but fear moving them without it being what he wants. I wait for some sort of sign, any indication that I can hold his hand more soundly, if he'd like that as much as I think I would like it. "I think you're pretty damn interesting, Armie Hammer."

"You'd be the first," I say, my mind going hazy as he uses the fingers resting against mine to begin tracing lines over my hand. My entire body goes on alert, suddenly hyper focused on this feather light touch. It's the most important thing that's ever happened to me, this touch. I can feel my stomach in my throat. I don't dare move. 

"I doubt it." I like how certain he is, how sure of himself even in this. I like that his hands are so different from mine, I like that he knows how to do this, that he can flirt, I like that he makes me feel anxious in the best possible way. "Will you look at me." I glance up and find him staring into my eyes. He shifts so he's closer, just a few inches but it's enough to make my heart speed away. "I'm just as nervous, Armie."

"I still find that hard to believe," I chuckle. A part of me wants to look away because every second of eye contact makes my heart constrict tightly and I'm not entirely sure I was meant to withstand this.

“I have a pet turtle,” he says. I look away then back and laugh. “Really, I do. Urtle. And… I’m studying theatre. I really like it, it feels like something I could be really good at, you know? I did a few things already but nothing major. Let’s see...I like dogs, but we don’t have one. I speak French, but I guess you probably know that by now.” I feel a smile breaking out across my face as he talks, his voice so sincere and… almost tender. It’s mesmerizing.

“I play the guitar and piano,” I tell him. He smiles brightly and shifts to face me better. There’s something unapologetic about how he looks at me and I never want it to stop. “I thought about writing or maybe editing a little but, I don’t know. I’m not sure it’s a good fit. I thought about acting too, actually. My parents don’t… approve. Exactly. It’s not their plan, you know?” 

“They want you to take over the lodge,” he assumes. 

“Yeah, but I don’t really want to. It’s more my brother’s thing, you know? I would rather be in the city, not stuck out here.” 

“You could visit me,” he says, biting his lip. He does that a lot, it’s fucking distracting. 

“Maybe,” I nod, wishing I could. Maybe when I graduated I could.  _ If  _ he wasn’t tired of me. 

“What else, tell me something else.” His hand reaches out to take the corner of my sweater between two fingers, rolling the material lightly. The air crackles around us; I feel dizzy. No, not dizzy. Lightheaded maybe, almost faint but that's not it either. I can tell his eyes flick down to my lips and it clicks as they flutter closed and back open to meet my gaze.

Adrenaline. I feel adrenaline coursing through my veins, setting me on edge, making me feel shaky as I feel my own body react to his, react to how close he is, how he's looking at me. It's never felt like this, not with any girl I'd ever gone on dates with, not even with Matthew. I swallow hard to shake it off. “I um, I can surf. My dad is always saying I'm too reckless. I love to read...I like art.” I can't think of anything else; _yo_ _u make me lose focus, I_ _  can’t breathe _ — I nearly slip and say it. 

"See, you’re interesting, Armie," he breathes. This is the strangest adrenaline rush I've ever had, my body almost shutting down instead of screaming to run, all because this boy is in front of me, too close but not close enough. His eyes hold mine and it's like the sun has chosen to shine because god I love those eyes and they put me at ease and he's looking at my lips again and  _ I want to kiss him _ so fucking bad but I don't know if I'll do it right or not and I want to do it right this time. He smiles and I feel myself melting, I didn't even know that was actually  _ possible _ . I can feel his breath reaching out to my lips and everything slows.

"Can I kiss you?" I ask, pushing all my fears away because it's so clear, it's  _ so fucking clear _ . I like him, I like how steady he is, how kind, how sure of himself. I like that felt like he needed to tell me I matter, that he's looking at me like he still believes it. I like his smirks, I like that he has little freckles on his face, his hair, the way he fidgets, I like his oversized expensive sweaters and wool socks pulled over the hems of his pants. I like how he looks at me and how he talks to me. I like that he told his parents about me at breakfast. I like him.

He smiles and bites his lip, but he doesn't answer. Instead, his body sways closer until his nose brushes against mine. My eyes slip shut at the feeling of him so close, the sensation reaching my fingertips. His lips brush against mine so softly I barely even feel it, but they’re against me and my mind goes absolutely blank, focused solely on the feeling as he presses his lips more firmly against mine. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *cue the Michael Scott "it's happening" gif*

The closest thing I can think to compare this to is the feeling of water rushing over my body when I dive into a deep pool. He sits still, his lips pressed against me unmoving, his hand still lingering on my own, but other than that, we are entirely separate. Just this whisper of something between us as his lips shift a little, the feeling of movement making my spine tingle. I don’t think I’m breathing, but I don’t want to startle him, don’t want him to stop, so I try to be discreet in inhaling. He notices, of course he does, and pulls back. 

For a moment, I think if I open my eyes I’ll wake up from this dream, be alone in my room where he doesn’t even exist. But he’s there, smiling at me faintly, wetting his lips when I look. He’s so close that I can barely breathe, and each time I do I can tell I’m breathing him in and vice versa. I can feel his breath across my lips like he’s teasing me even now, flirting with every exhale. I close my eyes to stop the thundering in my chest, evading his gaze to slow my heart just a little. My body jolts when he touches me, his fingers light against my jaw and he laughs, this insane little breathless laugh that I have never heard before but crave the moment it’s gone. I open my eyes to look at him but feel his lips on mine again and I’m lost, so lost, because this time he’s touching me and holding me. I can feel his fingers shaking against me and somehow his nerves settle my own and I try to just lean into it, into him. I sigh, too caught up to care, and kiss him harder with more purpose. It’s instinctual, the way his head tilts and mine reacts, how his lip slots between mine, a game of back and forth that stems from touch and nothing else. His lips are soft and he smells faintly like coffee and our fireplace downstairs. Mom always said coffee was a palate cleanser.  _ He’s  _ a palate cleanser, his lips and smell and touch making everything new. 

I know he feels the shiver run over me when his fingers drift to my throat and down to the neckline of my sweater, gripping it tightly, because he smiles against my lips. I’ve never felt that before, someone smiling against me like that. I smile back, unable to stop myself, and then he does that little laugh again and oh my god, he’s so fucking perfect. I lean back to look at him, overwhelmed by sensation. I can’t breathe with him this close, but his breathing is just as loud as mine. I like the sameness to our struggle. 

I lean back a little more so we have more air to breathe and find I can’t focus on one thing at a time, my eyes everywhere all at once, on his eyes, his lips, his fidgety hands, his hair— I make a mental note to touch it next time we kiss.  _ Next time _ , I think, my heart beat spiking. He gets shy and it’s fucking adorable when he twists his hair between his fingers before dropping both hands into his lap, his eyes meeting mine hesitantly. “Wow,” I breathe, my insides curling in on themselves with butterflies the second he makes that stupid hot little breathy laugh at how cheesy I apparently am now..  _ Wow?? WOW?  _ I want to roll my eyes. I couldn’t have said anything cooler than that? 

“Yeah,” he nods. I think he feels the same hazy dizziness I feel because the movement is a little slowed. I have the urge to hold him against me, push my face against his neck, and breathe. I fight it, barely, and instead let my leg rest against his. The new sensation makes me shiver. I wonder what would happen if I pressed all of me against him, if it would be more intense. 

“Please tell me you don’t have to work all day,” he whispers, eyes drifting back to my lips. I love that so much, I love it when he does that. It makes me feel powerful and wanted.

“I’m sorry,” I mutter. “I’d love to stay her with you, believe me. But there’s no way I’m getting out of work.” 

“Later then? I wasn’t kidding; I want to know more about you,” he tells me. He leans forward so his hands can lift to run over my shoulders. It kind of tickles— I’m not used to being touched like this. “And maybe kiss you,” he shrugs, nervous. “If that’s okay.”

“That’s okay, more than okay,” I nod quickly. He smiles and bites his lip. I wish I was doing it for him. “I  can find you, but it’s not going to be until later. Probably after dinner, or else my parents will ask what I’m doing.”

“Okay,” he nods. “Will you kiss me one more time before you have to leave?” he asks, smiling softly. It makes me grin even though I feel nervous all over again. I lean in, calling on all my confidence to press my lips against his. I linger, the feel of his soft lips under mine so foreign yet already familiar. It’s still slow, completely innocent despite the loud rush of blood through my body, but I don’t mind. I like him like this. I could stay like this forever, just breathing him in with his nose next to mine and his lips pressed against me. His hands on my shoulders are steady and strong, but they relax almost immediately and loop around my neck to keep me from pulling back. Not that I want to. I fight with myself over whether or not to touch him, meanwhile his fingers press against my neck.It takes everything in me to not make a sound, which only means my willpower is gone to fight the desire to touch his body. My hand lifts to his leg, grips his thigh just above his knee. I can feel him tense his muscles  a little, but his lips still move against mine into a sigh as he relaxes. “Armie,” he breathes, lips still technically on mine. Are we still kissing? What counts as a kiss, could I always be kissing him if we agreed to speak only like this, with lips brushing with every syllable? “Go, I know your breaks are short,” he whispers. “I don’t want them to come looking for you.”

“I don’t want to leave yet,” I mumble, afraid if I leave him now I’ll never have this courage again. I’ve never felt more desired, more understood. 

“I don’t want you to either,” he laughs.  _ God, I could listen to that laugh until I die. _ “But I don’t want you to get in trouble. I’ll wait for you tonight.”

“Promise?” I mumble, eyes still closed. He’s so fucking close— I don’t know how I’ll go back to work and focus on anything when I have this to hold onto. When my body is trying valiantly to encourage me to stay. 

“I promise,” he says, pressing his lips against mine quickly. I sigh when he leans back and lets his arms fall off me, one hand patting my leg. “Armie,” he laughs. 

“I know, I know,” I mumble, rolling my eyes and running a hand through my hair. “I’ll come to your door tonight when it’s clear,” I say, looking over at him. His lips look a little redder and his cheeks are flushed.  _ I did that _ , I think, smiling to myself. 

“Okay,” he grins. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys, gals, and non binary pals!! I am so pumped that yall are loving this fic as much as I am. This chapter was originally not supposed to be this, but this is where teenage Armie's mind wanted me to go so this is where it went! I hope you enjoy <3

I can't focus. On anything. Everything I'm asked to do reminds me of Timmy. Refill the cider? Timmy drank cider. Go build the fire? Timmy smells like the fireplace. Check the weather? Timmy's hands are cold unless he sits on them. Tidy up the books? Timmy pretended to read to talk to me.

Nothing helps, so I lean into it after an hours and allow my mind to drift wherever it wants. It's easier than fighting the feeling of missing out. I've never felt quite so entranced by another person. It takes awhile to realize I must really like him, that _this_ must be what they mean in the movies and books when they say someone is _smitten_. I feel smitten, if that's even a thing I can feel.

I see Timmy's parents a little later and approach them, my nerves off the charts but the desire to be close to some part of him outweighing them. "Hey, Chalamet's," I smile, hoping I seem normal.

"Armie, always good to see you," Marc smiles back, reaching out to shake my hand. "My son seems to have disappeared, are you looking for him?"

"Oh, no sir." I can feel the heat rising to my ears and up the back of my neck. "I just wanted to say hello."

"Well that's nice," Nicole says, smiling warmly at me.

"You've made quite the impression on our son," Marc says. My eyes dart over to him, face red by now I'm sure. What does that even mean, how do I respond to something like that? Does he know? Did Timmy tell him we kissed? I don't know what to say, I have _no idea_ what to say. I know I have to speak up sooner or later but I can't even find my voice. "He usually passes his time with his sister. It's nice that he has a friend here this year," he says. Ah, thank fuck. I nod and try to smile.

"Yeah, it's not every day I get to make friends with visitors either," I tell him, trying to recover from my embarrassment. They chat with me for a few minutes about the weather and their plans for their stay, Nicole musing that if the weather keeps up we may have trouble. When they walk away, all I want is to find Timmy.

The day is longer than it should be, every second passing in agony. He's nowhere to be seen until his family heads down for dinner, at which point he's got a baseball cap on and two layers of sweaters. He looks so cozy and when he looks over me, he smiles faintly as if he's remembering our kiss earlier. Or maybe _I'm_ just remembering the kiss. "Armie?" Vik asks; we're supposed to be cleaning up the main lobby area now that guests are clearing out. " _Armie!"_ My eyes drift away from Timmy when he bites his lip to cover up his laughter, his head shaking as he turns to follow his parents. I look at Viktor and roll my eyes.

"Yeah, yeah. Grab a broom, idiot," I mutter.

"Still won't tell me what's going on?" he teases, eyes cautious when he looks at me. I've thought about telling him countless times over the years, but I've never been able to get the words out. I was never sure if any one label fit me anyway. It was just one boy, one kiss, did that really mean _anything?_ I kissed way more girls than guys, didn't _that_ mean something? I felt like a fraud holding the label close to my chest. How could I speak it into existence if I wasn't even sure it was mine to take? If I wasn't sure there'd be a day where I thought, _you know what, actually I don't like men at all. It was a fluke._

But now—now I can't stop thinking about Timmy's laugh. My heart leaps at the memory of it.

"Nope," I shake my head, eyes cast down to avoid Vik's gaze. He doesn't push. He used to, push that is. Way back before Matthew even came here, he'd tease me all the time. I always thought it was banter but it hurt sometimes, too. Like when Mom and Dad would say stuff that felt like stones in my heart. When he saw me kissing Matthew, he asked me about it that night so many times that I started crying and told him I didn't want to talk about it. He left it alone for a few months before he started asking again, but it was still sore, and I guess he might have known that. His questions stopped being harsh and started being generally inquisitive, but it had been months since he'd asked. I thought he dropped it for good.

Timmy, it seems, has sparked renewed interest in the subject. I wonder if he knows this time it's different. He seems to be treating it differently, cautiously dancing around the topic. It feels inevitable, talking to him about it. I'm just not sure I'll be able to get the words out when I'm finally ready to admit to him what I'm starting to realize is the truth.

_I'm gay._

The thought makes my heart clench up, my hands shake. I know it's true, I can't deny it anymore. This is what it's supposed to feel like when I'm with those girls, I'm supposed to lose time thinking about them, wonder what their favorite color is, how they look when they wake up in the morning. I'm supposed to feel this way about the girls my parents approve of, not the guy they don't. I have to be gay, there's no other explanation. Maybe Timmy’s right, maybe that’s okay.

When we're finally told we're done for the night, we go up to our suite and play video games for a few hours. It's pretty late when I start getting restless, and Vik asks if I'm okay. I guess I look pretty anxious, but I can't help it; I want to see him, I can't think about anything else. I've lost four games in a row. I shrug but he doesn't accept that as an answer.

"Armie, just say it. I won't tell anyone, whatever it is," he says, his voice quiet. I look at him and try to figure out if he'll use this as ammunition, some sort of secret held onto to use against me when he gets in trouble for something and needs to deflect punishment. "Armie, you're my brother," he says. "What's going on?" I want to tell him, even if it's a risk. I want to tell _someone_ , I want to say it out loud. I open my mouth, but my body seizes up on me, my heart racing so fast I feel like I might throw up. My hands are shaky—it's like I've just downed an entire pot of coffee. I can't even look at him, I feel so nauseous suddenly, my mind blurry, eyes hazy.

My eyes drop; I'm not ready, I realize. I stare at my hands and try to calm myself down with a series of breathes in through my nose. I need to tell him _something_ , though, or I'll never get away with sneaking out. When I feel slightly more in control, I turn to him. "You can't tell anyone."

"Okay," he nods quickly, shifting in his seat to lean in towards me so he doesn't miss a thing.

I take a deep breath and let it out. "I'm sneaking out," I say. "Mom and Dad can't know, I need you to cover for me if they come looking."

"Are you going to meet him?" he asks. I look at him to assess his question. He doesn't seem grossed out or anything. Maybe he already knows everything. Maybe me saying it out loud is just a formality at this point. I nod, my heart painfully _racing_. His face breaks out in a smile. "I _knew_ it!" he says, excited. "Okay, sorry, sorry. _Okay_. So, you're going to meet him. I'll cover for you, don't worry. Where are you going? Do you need me to distract the front desk to get you a key card?" He's so fucking excited, it makes me laugh. I feel lighter than I have in a long time with him, my eyes beginning to water. _He's not mad,_ I can see so clearly that he doesn't give a fuck that it's a boy I'm going to meet. "You okay?" he asks, sobering suddenly. I nod and try to blink away the tears threatening to pour out. "Armie," he says. "Do whatever you want with whoever you want. I'll cover for you. You're my big brother," he shrugs.

"Thanks," I nod, emotion overwhelming me. It's all I can say without fear of exposing too much of myself. I'm not used to being understood, accepted, not like this. Not from family.  

"So, I won't wait up or anything but if you need anything, just text me."

"Okay," I smile, my heart jumping for an entirely different reason than it ever has before. I never thought I'd be able to lean on my family for anything personal, _definitely_ not for this. I stand to grab my key and a sweater, patting his back when I pass him. I know if he tries to hug me, I'll just start crying, so I'm grateful when he stays seated. "I'll be back later," I tell him, walking towards the door.

"See ya, Romeo," he smirks. I laugh and nod at him. He had way more game than I did, and it had become a joke between us over the past year and a half. Every time he went to flirt with a girl, I always called him Romeo. It feels good somehow to have the tables turned.

"See ya," I smile, walking out with a wave over my shoulder. I check to make sure the coast is clear in the hallway before shutting the door behind me. I straighten my shirt and take a deep breath, eyes slipping closed. I think about what I’m about to do, what it means that I’m taking this leap. I like Timmy so much that it doesn’t seem as scary as it should, though.

I walk over to the stairs hoping the exercise will help me calm down and go to his floor. When I’m in front of his door, I take a deep breath, lift my hand, and knock twice.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look for another update sooooon


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... actually no just read I'll talk to you after lol

The door opens just enough for Timmy to slip out, a grin on his face. "Hey! Sorry, they're asleep, I don't want to wake them," he whispers, clicking the door closed. I stare at him, trying to remember to breathe, to move out of his way so he can, I don't know, actually _leave_ his room, but I'm frozen. He nudges me so he has more room and lets out that airy little laugh. The hallway lights are sort of dimmed, casting shadows of my body onto his. He grabs my hand boldly and starts walking, glancing over his shoulder to smile at me. "Armie, come on," he nods, his fingers between mine squeezing.

"Right, sorry." I shake my head of the haziness I feel around him and follow his lead. I think my hand is sweating but I can't be positive and I'm sure as hell am not going to let go of his to check. His shoulder brushes against mine with every step, shocks shooting through me. We reach the stairs and step into the corridor before my mind catches up to me. "Wait," I say, gripping his hand tightly before he can walk upstairs. He turns towards me, his eyebrows lifting, a smile spreading on his face. "Just, wait," I breathe, staring at him. He is so beautiful—he way his hair curls, his clothes hang, the white t-shirt peeking out from under the neck of his sweater. There's a light blush forming on his cheeks, reminding me I've just stopped and given him no explanation. I lean in to kill the silence, my free hand shakily lifting to his arm to pull him closer. He seems to catch on quickly because his body leans into mine, head tilting so our lips connect swiftly.

The smile on my lips is immediate, the relief overwhelming. It's not a long kiss, more just lips lingering on lips from a few breaths, but it's perfect. "I want to show you somewhere else tonight," I whisper, shivering embarrassingly when his lips shift to the corner of my lips.

"Okay," he says, letting go of my hand to lift himself, his arms looping around my neck into a hug. I love how his body feels against mine, like everything falls into place; nothing has ever felt so comforting as the weight of him against me. I feel him hum the small vibrations passing from him to me. He smells like fresh linen and sleep.

I slip my arms away from him somehow, pulling on every ounce of self-control I have. He smiles at me and takes a deep breath before leaning in so his head falls against my shoulder. I laugh, caught off guard, and rub his shoulders. His shyness is something I wasn't prepared for. My lungs feel nonexistent but it's worth it to have him this close. "Okay, where are we going? If we don't go now I'll just stay like this for an hour," he mumbles, his hands finding my waist. A jolt of electricity flows through me at the touch and I have to bite my lip to stop from making any noise as he pulls away and shrugs at me. I nod and let out a deep breath I was apparently holding and slip his hand into mine. I know my grin huge, but I don't care because his is a perfect copy of it.

I lead him down the stairs, down several floors until we're on the main service level. We step out and I drop his hand, never knowing who I might see. I miss the weight of him immediately, but motion for him to follow me anyway. He stays close and that helps me feel a little more calm as I navigate through the halls. "Back when my parents bought this place, there was this rundown old addition that they didn't know what to do with," I whisper, though I probably don't need to. "They decided to remodel it into this apartment that we lived in for years, but then they redid all the rooms in the main lodge and it was just easier to be close. Plus it was a chance to make themselves a fancy ass room and put Vik and I somewhere separate. It was a win-win for them."

"You're taking me to your childhood apartment?" Timmy asks, his voice quiet and soft like he's afraid to break the words leaving his lips. I glance over at him and shrug. "That's cute," he bites his lip. "Please tell me there are like, tick marks on some wall for measuring how tall you were."

I laugh and look away from him, my ears warming. "Sadly for you, no. They remodeled it a few years ago, said it was a waste of space. My parents aren't very sentimental."

"So what is it now?" he asks, his hand brushing up against mine. He lingers, so I think it's on purpose.

"Storage, mostly. A studio apartment for our chef. But there's one room they kept for Vik and me, we don't use it much on season but off season we're always there because we get bored. It has a big screen and a few pinball machines," I shrug. It was also sound proof, but I don't tell him this. I don't want him to get the wrong idea. I look over at him as we reach a door with the words AUTHORIZED PERSONAL ONLY on it. He's smiling at the floor, his eyes lifting to mine and softening when I nudge him. He leans against me for a second and straightens up, shrugs a little. I pull out a key and let us in, snaking around the hallway with him in tow until we reach the right door and step through.

"Oh wow, this is so cool," he breathes, stepping around me to walk inside. His hands trail along the edge of a large sofa as he looks around at the vintage movie posters on the wall, pinball machines, record player and stereo system, and stacks and stacks of movies, cd’s, and vinyl. He thumbs through them as I close the door behind me and lean against the wall. "You've been holding out on me," he accuses, glancing over his shoulder with a smile. "Here I was thinking the view was the only trick you had."

"Not even close," I say, wondering where the hell my confidence is coming from. He smirks and nods, looking back at the records before moving on to the movies.

"Is your brother the only other person who comes down here?" he asks. I swallow hard and nod when he looks at me for an answer. "So, we're like, actually completely alone here."

"Yeah," I tell him. My heart starts racing with the way he's looking at me. Oh god, I might throw up.

"Hey, don't be nervous," he says suddenly, walking over to me. His hands lift to my shoulders and I feel the tension ease out of me. It's a little unsettling that he knows I'm nervous, that he senses how to help me.

"I just, I've never you know. You're like the second guy I've ever kissed and—"

"Armie, it's fine," he nods, hands moving to my face to ground me. He lets out some cross between a laugh and a sigh, more awkward than his normal airy laugh. "We don't have to do anything. I'm not expecting _anything_."

I nod quickly, breathing deeply. "Okay, yeah. Sorry, I just," I blink hard. "I don't know what I was thinking, I just got nervous."

"I know, it's alright," he says with a smile. "I just want to be around you, I was asking about who comes down here because I know you get nervous when someone might see us. I wasn't asking because of, you know. _That_."

"Right," I breathe. His hands fall from my face to grab my hands, his lip between his teeth.

"Want to watch a movie or something?" he asks quietly. "Or maybe we can listen to music?"

"Yeah," I nod at him, squeezing his hands. "Let's watch a movie." I want to talk to him, but I'm so nervous I feel like something calm like a movie will help me. And anyway, we hadn't talked about it, but I figured we would be here for a while to take advantage of the ability to be alone. Timmy walks over to the movies and starts going through them systematically, pulling things and commenting on them before placing them back in place carefully, turning with excitement when certain titles pop up. He's all over the place, his head shaking as if he's trying to gather his thoughts by shaking them around. "Sorry, sorry, I'm rambling," he says before grabbing another movie and going off again. I'm entranced, my feet carrying me towards him with every word leaving his lips.

My family is one of carefully chosen words, perfectly constructed projections of ourselves. He's all passion, frantic energy, soothing eyes. He pulls me in without ever touching me. "—and there's this scene, it's so fucking good. I guess you know because you have the movie, but there's this sort of, uh, I don't know, this almost transient—" He turns to look at me, closer than I guess he expects, his words dying on his lips. "Sorry," he whispers. "You choose."

His eyes have these sort of flecks in them, making the green look almost mystical, like the color could alter itself in a moment. His breath catches—I can hear it in the silence. It does something to me, something visceral, my body understanding something my mind does not as I reach out to touch him, my fingers brushing against his arm, the back of my knuckles trailing up his chest. For once, he's the one shivering. I swallow hard and worry my lip between my teeth, my heart racing. His skin is softer than even I remember when I reach his neck, his cheek. "Kiss me," he breathes, eyes drifting to my lips. I can feel my heart beat in my hands, legs, stomach. My mouth is dry—I have to swallow, lick my lips. He smiles faintly, eyes lifting to mine eagerly. Earlier when we kissed, my I felt so alive, on edge even with every touch. Now, my body aches.

I lean in and kiss him, my hand smoothing out over his cheek, slipping into his hair. I nearly lose all control with his hair between my fingers, strands curling around me as his lips press against mine. It's brief, too brief, but when we're parted he lifts his own hands to my chest, up to wrap around my neck as he reconnects our lips, my hand dropping, arms wrapping around his body, pulling him closer. A shuddering breath slips out of me and he takes it, his mouth opening to breathe me in.

His body is smaller than mine and it shows with every inch I'm able to cover with my arms, my body. I want him everywhere. His tongue brushes against mine and it's so different from my memory of Matthew that I can't even compare them. Timmy is warm and eager, like he knows what he's doing, like he knows what he _wants._ The kiss gets deeper and I can't get enough, I want more, more of this, of him, more kisses and his fingers in my hair, his breath, his body shifting as he lifts on his tiptoes to be almost as tall as I am, his tongue casing mine, his heart pounding against my own chest.

We part, lungs clenching in protest at the struggle to breathe, his hands moving, mine responding, until he's pulling me back with hands at my ribs, waist, gripping the fabric tightly as my own hands frame his face when he kisses me again, this time with a deep sound I have never heard him make the instant our tongues touch. He grips me hard, his fingers digging into my sides; it makes my body shake, that rush of adrenaline running through me again. I’m thrumming with energy, every nerve on fire as he sucks on my lip, his mouth covering mine again and eager to let me lick into him. My body follows his as he steps back, and I don’t really consciously mean to but I stumble and it makes me sway forward, my hips pressing against his briefly, but enough to feel shocks through my entire body. He falls back with me in tow, the shelves of movies shifting when he collides with it. It makes us separate, our eyes opening to see alarm in each other at the sound of dvd's falling.

Suddenly, he laughs, breathless, his head falling back and causing more dvd's to fall. It's contagious and soon I'm laughing as well, my hands slipping down to rest on the shelves on either side of his waist, head falling against his shoulder to catch my breath. "Oh my god," he laughs. "I forgot those were there." It takes a solid minute for either of us to stop laughing—each time we get close, one of us would shake with laughter and it would reverberate between us, spurring on a whole new fit of laughter. Finally, I lean back and look at him. His hands run through his hair as he looks back at me and I can't help it, I lean in again and kiss him slowly. I feel weightless when we kiss, how could I ever stop when it feels this good?

"Armie," he mumbles, a hand against my chest to push me back. He bumps my nose with his and laughs, says, "God you are… something else."

"What?" Confused laughter bubbles up out of me.

"You just… You make me feel drunk," he says, his hand trailing up to touch my jaw.

"That's a good thing, right?"

"Yes," he sighs, nodding with a smile. I smile back and feel myself growing shy again but push it down. I like feeling confident with him, I don't want it to stop. "Maybe we should, um. Take a break though."

"From kissing?" I ask, my mind fuzzy I guess because I can't think of a single reason why we should.

"Yeah," he nods. "So we don't get carried away."

" _Oh_ ," I nod, swallowing hard as my face blushes. My eyes dart down but I catch myself before really looking to see if he's been _affected_ by our make out session. I know my body wants to cave to him, I guess it just didn't occur to me that he might be fighting the same urge to let hormones take over. Something close to pride fills me when I realize I might be capable of turning him on. He bites his lip and I have to forcibly push the thought away before I start to have a serious problem.

"It's not that I don't _like_ you I've just never done it and I don't want to rush this," he says quickly, his voice shaky.

"No, me either! I don't want to rush this either," I agree, trying to stop myself from turning red, but truth be told I probably already am.

"Okay, good," he says, staring at me. If he keeps staring at me like that I'm going to kiss him again, though. God, I've never felt like this. Is this what it's supposed to feel like? "Let's just… sit down and talk?" he asks, nervous. I follow him to the couch and take his hand in mine when we sit down, bodies shifted so we can look at each other. Silence falls between us for way too long; I can feel tension building again.

"I have to be honest," I tell him. He's looking down at our hands, his thumb tracing along my skin slowly. My heart feels weird, like it might stop working, but I can't tell if it'll race too fast or stop beating altogether. He hums and glances up at me. "Everything about this is new to me. I've never even come out to _anyone_ , not friends, nothing. You're the first person I've ever… talked to. About this. I almost told my brother today because he’s been asking about you anyway and it was so fucking scary. I mean, he knows because I couldn’t not tell him I was going to be with you, but I didn’t actually _say_ it. I couldn’t, it was like my body wouldn’t let me say it out loud. How did you do it?" It had been bothering me all day. The more I liked him, the more I questioned how to possibly tell my family I'm gay. Every way I worked through it ended with me out on the streets.

"I was lucky," he shakes his head. "I'm not exactly a great example for what it's like to come out."

"Right," I nod, my heart sinking.

"Can _I_ be honest?" he asks, his other hand moving to cover both of ours. I nod at him, but keep my eyes on our fingers. "I think you're way braver than I am."

"What?"

"You are! If my parents weren't so cool I don't think I would ever have the confidence to just go for it. Even back when they found out, I was just holding hands with a guy. That's how they found out, Armie. I was _holding hands_ with a boy at school and got into a fight, and they asked if I liked boys when they picked me up and I told them. I didn't have the guts to do anything more until I knew they didn't care."

"Really?" It's surprising to me, to _even think_ he was ever shy about touch when he gives it to me so freely.

"Yes," he nods. "What you're doing, following your heart like this… Armie, I admire you so much." His words fill me with warmth. He is _so_ warm, he’s like sunshine.

"You don't care that we have to hide?"

"Of course I care," he shrugs. "But I want you to feel safe." He says it so simply, like I should already know. As if that would be _obvious_ for me that someone like him would care about how I felt. "Armie?" he whispers, lifting a hand to my cheek. "You okay?" I guess I must look distressed.

"I just really like you," I whisper. It's the truth, after all.

"I really like you, too," he says, leaning in to press his lips against mine softly. He lingers for just a second, but it's enough to remind me that he's the only person I want to kiss me. I don't think it's even possible that another human could put their lips on mine and make me feel safe and warm.

"How long are you staying here? How much time do we have?" I ask, the question I'd been afraid of. He sobers and looks away.

"Only a few more days," he whispers. "We leave Monday." That was in three days. I only had three more days with him. Dread comes over me like a tidal wave; I have to sit back against the couch to stop my body from seizing up on itself. "I know," he says. And I believe him, that he knows exactly what I'm thinking.

"That's not fair," I shake my head. I look over at him with a sad smile and find him nodding, his smile mirroring mine.

"I know."

"I finally feel like I can be myself," I tell him. "Like I finally found someone who just gets me. And you're going to leave." He's silent and I'm embarrassed to find my eyes watering suddenly. "Jesus," I mutter, swiping the tears from my eyes.

"Hey, don’t freak out but… can we stay here tonight? Do you think anyone would know?" he asks quietly.

"What—you want to stay with me?" I ask him, eyes wide, tears forgotten in my shock.

"I just want to take advantage of all the time we have. You said it yourself, I’m going to leave. And I like you so much, Armie. I don’t want to waste any time," he says. "I just want to be near you." I try to figure out if there's any chance this could fall back and bite me in the ass, but the security here usually ignore it when Vik and I sneak out. They'd all been working here since we were kids and they felt protective of us, knew our parents had a tendency to overreact. There was a camera at the entrance to the wing for this entire addition, so they already had evidence of us down here. Seeing as my parents hadn't come knocking down the door, I'd say they wouldn't out me. It’s probably safe to bring him upstairs, probably safer than us leaving this room in the morning where we have basically no reason to be, risking the Chef (my mother’s long time friend) seeing us together.

"Can we actually…" I feel sick to my stomach even thinking about suggesting this. But there's only a couch here and there's no way it'll be comfortable. "Oh my god, I can't believe I'm going to say this."

"What?"

"Come back to my room?" I spit out, looking away from him. "I share the suite with Viktor but we have separate bedrooms and he'll leave us alone and the bed is a lot bigger and it's just we're both tall you know and I don't want you to get an ache in your back and anyway it's a lot closer to your room and I can pass it off as you just staying late or something and if you don't want to that's okay I get it—"

"Armie," he laughs, biting his lip. "I don’t care where we are, your room is perfectly fine. Let's go."

"Really?" I sigh.

"Yeah, let's go to your room."

"Okay… just to be clear, we're not… you know."

"Armie, I know," he laughs, that blush falling all over him again. "We’ll be PG, I get it."

"Well, I mean maybe like… PG13…" He smirks and laughs at me and it makes my heart race. "Let's go," I say, helping him up. I shoot a text to Viktor to let him know we're coming upstairs and roll my eyes at his reply (DAMN ROMEO!! in my room pls be quiet with him or youre paying for the therapy ill need to get to forget) as we start walking through the halls. When we finally make it up all the stairs and into my room, he takes my hand and smiles softly at me as the door clicks shut.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO THIS WAS LONGER THAN I ANTICIPATED!! I wanted to give you guys the entire night in but these muses of mine just! kept! going! So the next chapter will be the rest of this night. I have a plan for this fic even though it's not completely mapped out or finished, so I don't actually know how many chapters it'll end up being. Thanks for reading/commenting/dropping kudos/etc. ILY!


	9. Chapter 9

We walk through the suite quietly, his fingers set between mine, his smile blooming on his lips every time I turn to glance at him. For a second, I get distracted, his eyes shining in the low lights of the suite, transforming the place into somewhere I actually want to be. "Armie, _go,_ " he laughs, nudging me. I want him to be what I think about when I come back here after work until I move out. I want memories of his laugh everywhere, his hand in mine through the walkways. I want to remember kissing him every time I walk through the door, when I sit on our couch, go into my room. I need something to hold onto in a week, in two, in a year when I come back from college and have to sit in this cold room again. "Armie?" I lean in and kiss him. It's more like I just allow my lips to rest lightly against his, because I can't bring myself to move or do anything but just exist with him in this living room and memorize the weight of his lips.

A sound coming from Viktor's room is what finally makes me move. I pull back and smile at him, sinking into the smile he gives me in return, and walk us into my room.

He goes straight for my bookshelf, his fingers trailing along the paperbacks stuffed into a shelf, his eyes skimming the titles before crouching down and picking up guitar tab and music theory books haphazardly thrown on the bottom shelf. "Did you teach yourself?" he asks, not even looking up. He grabs one of the books and thumbs through it before setting it back and looking around.

"Yeah," I say as he walks over to my guitar and the little ukulele Vik got me a few months ago. He strums a string and turns to smile at me.

"Cute," he says, biting his lip.

" _Cute?"_  I laugh, getting shy.

" _Yeah_ , cute. I think it's cute that you taught yourself to play, I'm allowed to find you cute," he smirks, walking towards me.

"Okay," I whisper when he's close. "I think you're cute, too," I mumble, my eyes drifting to his lips despite my best efforts which, as it turns out, aren't that impressive. He hums and bites his lip, lets his hands find mine. I love holding his hands so much, I had no idea it would feel so comforting and exciting to hold someone's hand.

"Stop," he says breathlessly, shaking his head. He's biting his lip so hard, his hands squeezing mine.

"What?" I ask, confused.

"The way you're looking at me, it's making me fucking nervous," he admits. My body sways back away from him, my hands slipping out of his.

"Oh, I'm sorry--"

"No! Wait, I didn't," he groans, reaching for me. "Please, please forget I said that."

"I don’t want you to be nervous," I grumble.

"I didn't mean bad nervous, Armie," he says, leaning in to press his face against my chest. A part of me wants to forget everything and hold him to me, never let him go. "I like that you make me nervous, it was just a lot suddenly. And I wanted to kiss you really bad but I didn't want to actually kiss you because I didn't want you to think that's the only reason I'm here, and… I don't know, _fuck_ , I just like you," he says, his hand leaving mine to wrap around my body. I relax into him immediately, my head falling down so my cheek rests on his hair.

"Oh, sorry I overreacted," I whisper. "You make me just as nervous, probably more. You know that. I just get caught up sometimes, you're like..." I take a deep breath and close my eyes, will some form of strength into my body. "You're just everything, you know? I can't explain it. Sometimes I look at you and I just get overwhelmed."

"I know, I love that about you." My heart stops, his hands tighter around my waist. "You make me feel special," he whispers.

"You are." He pulls away from me just enough to lift his chin so it rests on my chest. It's a weird strain, but I can look into his eyes like this without actually moving any further away; I love it.

"Can we lay down?" he whispers, and all I can do is nod. He follows me over to the bed and I'm insanely grateful we're both already basically in sleep clothes because I'm honestly not sure I could handle either of us changing right now. He takes his shoes off and puts them next to mine and slips into the bed, waiting for me. "Armie?" he asks, reaching out with a hand as a smile starts forming on his lips.

"Wait," I say, laughing when he pouts. "I just want to remember this."

"Oh god," he breathes out, smile fading into some look I've never seen. "You're a romantic, aren't you?"

"Maybe," I mumble, blushing.

"That would make sense actually. Why you're always looking at me like that, like… you want to remember."

"I do want to remember," I say, slightly confused as I start walking to the bed. I sit down and watch his twist his hands together over the covers of my bed.

"Like every second matters," he adds. His chest is rising and falling faster than mine for once.

"Doesn't it?"

"Armie, I really like you," he says suddenly, looking struck with the words, like he might cry.

"I really like you," I tell him. It feels important all of a sudden that I be closer, be able to hold him. I move under the blanket and scout closer on the bed. He lays down and I follow until we're about a foot away facing each other and he takes my hand in his to hold it up to his chest.

"I was kind of depressed in middle school," he whispers, shifting slightly but never letting go of my hand. "Got made fun of, never really fit in. I was always this theater kid, born and raised, you know? And the school I went to… wasn't that." I want to ask why he's telling me this, but I want to hear him talk more, so I stay silent. "My sister was basically my best friend. I had a few friends of course but none really stuck that much until high school, now I have some but it's not like… the kids I grew up with aren't really my best friends anymore you know."

"Yeah," Armie whispers. "I just have like one friend who's been there for years. The others are newer."

"I don't make friends very easily."

"That can't be true," I mumble, eyes catching on his fingers tracing along my hand.

"It is. I make friends but they aren't always like. Really close. My friends are all after the same stuff you know so sometimes it's just hard when everything's a competition. I don't know why I'm telling you this," he laughs, pulling my hand away from him to lay it on the bed between us. I watch as he trails his fingers up my arm and back down to my palm.

"I get anxiety," I tell him quietly. "Not depression, but not fun either."

"No shit," he sighs, looking up at me. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine," I shrug. "I deal with it."

"Do you think part of it is being gay?" he asks so quietly I barely hear him. I fight the initial frustration that springs up in me to actually consider his words.

"I don't think so. I think it's just… I don't actually know, I've never talked about it."

"That's okay," he says, reaching out to touch my face. He tells me about his first kiss, the first time he realized he was gay, the first boy he ever liked. He tells me about coming out to his sister when he was little, how she sat there and smiled and helped him make cookies for a school bake off and never made it weird. He looks in my eyes as he talks and smiles sometimes, furrows his brows others, and always, _always_ , makes my breath catch when he bites his lip. His fingers are still skimming my arm, catching between my own fingers to squeeze my hand on occasion, the touch sending shivers over me. "What about you, tell me about you," he whispers after awhile.

"I'm boring," I smile, catching his hand in mine as it nears, trapping it on the bed. He laughs and his hair falls against his forehead, into his eyes. I reach out to push it back and find his hand waiting for me on the bed, so I cover it with mine. "I've kissed girls, a handful of them. Only one guy before you, but you know that."

"What about the first time you held hands?" he asks, squeezing mine.

"It was you," I answer shyly.

"Really?" he asks. If I didn't know any better, I'd say he looked a little caught off guard, in awe. I nod at him and watch, heart in my throat, as he lifts my hand to his lips. "In that case, I'm honored."

"What about you, you said that's how people found out, right?" He nods and looks up towards the ceiling, shifting he weight so he's on his back. "We don't have to talk about it," I tell him. I miss his eyes and his hand is barely in mine now. "Timmy," I whisper, cringing at how whiney it sounds. He glances back and me and sighs. "Come back," I pull at his hand, making him smile faintly. He turns back onto his side, this time closer to me, and snuggles up so our arms are pressed between our bodies. His leg drifts over to mine and it sends a jolt through me at the unexpected touch. With him this close, in my bed, under my sheets, it becomes difficult to think of anything but his body as it pressed against me earlier.

"It was after school one day. I didn't even really like him that much, which is the shitty part. But I knew he was gay, even if he wasn't completely out yet. And I think he suspected I might be. Even in New York, it's kind of exhilarating to find someone else, you know?" I nod, understanding completely. "Anyway, he walked me to my locker after class. He was really nice, kept complimenting me, and I started to get like… embarrassed. I covered my face, I guess. I was blushing. He pulled my hands away and just stood there, holding my hand in his in the middle of the hallway. There wasn't anyone around so I didn't care, but then… this asshole walked out and saw us, grabbed all his friends before making a scene so there were just like, five guys all standing behind us suddenly laughing and taking pictures and posting them before I even closed my locker."

"Jesus," I mumble, squeezing his hand harder.

"Yeah. Anyway, everyone knew. It's not the kind of thing you can hide behind. I had to lean into it to survive. Fortunately, most people have been pretty cool about it."

"Don't ever sell yourself short about bravery ever again," I tell him. "I don't know what I would have done. Run, probably. And anyway, I denied it, I still deny it when people ask about that guy I kissed."

"It's different for everyone," he says. Carefully, he trails a finger over my cheek and jaw, resting his palm against the side of my neck. I feel the need to protect him from something, though what I'm not sure. I just want him to stay here forever, safe in my bed, away from everyone else and what they might think. "Hey, you're disappearing again," he whispers, fingers smoothing the lines of my forehead. "Don't think so hard," he smiles.

"Sorry," I mumble, reaching for his wrist. Something about this feels unbelievably safe, like we're in a little bubble where I can't get embarrassed for how much I like him and he lets me see a side of him I can tell he doesn't show many people. I kiss his palm and wrist, then smile against him when I hear him sigh. He pulls from my grasp and lets his hand tangle through my hair, which brings us even closer together. He makes everything make sense, all the songs, all the movies, everything. "Timmy," I whisper.

"Yeah?"

"Have you ever been in love?" I ask quietly. He bites his lip and scoots even closer, using his legs to pull our bodies together. It's like an electric shock, his leg looped over mine, ankle hooked over my calf. He shakes his head no and lets his nose touch mine, his head on my pillow. My chest is tight with him this close, my lungs squeezing so hard that I feel my breathing shallow out.

"Ask me again in a few days," he breathes, the air from his words hitting me in the face.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> remember when i said this chapter would be the rest of their night well guess what it probably isnt. i cant decide if what i wrote next will work yet or not... we shall see


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lets get these teen hearts beating faster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a rollercoaster. Prepare yourself.

_“Ask me again in a few days.”_

 

He’s so close, his warm breath all over me—I can’t think, I’ve never experienced this before. I feel like I’m drowning, simultaneously being covered with lighter fluid and ignited by his touch. His proximity makes the words take a moment to actually sink in, the implication of them. They bring on a whole new wave of warmth through my body, in my cheeks, my palms which suddenly itch to be on him, my eyes that can’t seem to focus on anything so I just close them. I fucking love this, whatever this is, maybe even him, which I know is irrational and probably just a response to the fact that me makes me feel like every nerve in my body is being _touched_ , but fuck it’s all I can think right now because he’s so close and he’s on the pillow I sleep on every night and he just said he might fall in _love_ with me. I want him to kiss me, want to kiss him, want to throw everything out the window and exist here in this room, this bed, with him and no one else, nothing else, throw everything away so it’s just him that I can focus on and maybe then I’ll be satisfied. “Armie?”

“Hmm?”

“You can kiss me,” he tells me, his own hand lifting to my jaw, his fingertips lightly brushing against my skin. “Please, kiss me.” A shiver runs through me; I don’t have to open my eyes to know it makes him smile. I let my hand touch his shoulder and feel my way down to his ribs. He shifts, maybe ticklish. I try to remember that for later.

Apparently, I’ve taken too long, because his lips are suddenly on my skin, at my chin, my jaw, his teeth scrapping over me. The sensation is overwhelming, unlike anything I’ve felt with his hand resting at my collarbone and his teeth on my jaw, his ribs under my hand, leg over mine. My eyes snap open and my body shifts away from him an inch when I hear myself moan loudly, but I can feel him breathe out and it’s so shaky that I feel a little better about everything. “It’s okay,” he whispers, hand reaching up to my hair. His leg pulls me closer to stop my retreat. “It’s okay.”

“Fuck,” I breathe, my hand tightening at his side.

“We can be slow,” he tells me, rubbing his hand over my face. “It’s okay.” I nod in the limited space between us and try to take a steadying breath. I lean in to kiss him, thinking perhaps the safety of familiar territory might make this better, but his tongue brushes against mine and it’s just like earlier, but so different. Because now he’s in my _bed_ , smells like my laundry detergent. His leg is hooked around mine and my own is moving towards him without me even consciously realizing it so we’re even closer, thighs pressing together. He tugs at my hair and I feel my chest heave with the effort to breathe when I realize how fucking _good_ that feels, and it makes me uneasy to be this vulnerable, but I pull him in with my hand anyway, slipping it across his back, leaning into the sensation while it lasts. My mind is short-circuiting. Both of us shiver when I grab a fist of the fabric of his shirt, my wrist accidently settling on his exposed lower back. I’m starting to get hard, I realize. I wonder if that’s weird, then remember he has a dick too and might be getting hard, which makes even more difficult to think clearly. If I shift I might be able to— _no slow down_ , I think, my lungs already struggling so much that I don’t think I could handle any contact like that with him right now.

But slowing down doesn’t seem to be an option because he kisses me with so much heat that I wonder if my lips will be swollen tomorrow, if that even happened, and I want them to be, want him to kiss me more. They almost feel numb and I wonder if his are too. I bite his lip hard like I’d been wanting to for days to see and then it happens, something incredible—he grips my shirt tightly and _moans_ , his body shivering as it shifts towards me. The sound is everything I’ve ever craved without realizing it. He blinks at me when I stop kissing him, too caught up replaying the sound over and over in my mind.

Something comes over me and all I can think about is that sound, making him do it again, and again, and again. Gently, my hands press against his shoulders until he’s on his back so I can kiss his neck, his hands fisting in my hair with another shaky breath. My weight settles a little and he moans again, my leg shifting between his and I have to bite his shirt to stop from myself from moaning too when I feel him against me, half hard, just like me. My body screams at me, everything on fire and telling me to move, make it worse, make it impossible to stop. “Armie,” he gasps, his chest lifting quickly. “Fuck, I-- oh god,” he mumbles, his hands falling to the sides of the bed to grip the sheets as I look into his eyes. And he looks nervous, maybe even scared—it shakes me from the haze I feel trapped in. Too much, too much, too much too much—

I roll over onto my back next to him and catch my breath, his hand finding mine between our sides after a few breaths. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to…” _Get hard,_ I think. I didn’t either, and yet— “I couldn’t stop it, you’re just so fucking hot,” he groans, covering his face with one of his arms.

“ _What_?” I laugh. “No, _you_ are. I was just as bad.” He giggles, actually fucking _giggles_ , and looks over at me just as I look at him. For a moment, we just stare at each other while our breathing evens out.

“I want you,” he whispers, eyes still on me. “Obviously. Just…not tonight.”

“I want you, too,” I nod, blushing.

“It’s just so fast you know? I think… for both of us.”

“Yeah,” I breathe. Three days ago, I still couldn’t admit to myself that I was gay. Now I wanted nothing more than for him to climb on top of me and grind until I blacked out. Fast is an understatement.

“And we don’t… you know. I don’t want you to think I need that from you,” he whispers. I watch as he bites his lip, his hand in mine almost fidgeting. _He’s so nervous_. “We could… do other things.” He was already pretty flushed but now he looks red, the color spreading all over his face and neck. “I like you, so much. I might be ready for more but… I want to be sure.”

“Me too,” I nod. “Timmy, me too.”

“Okay.”

“Hey,” I whisper, squeezing his hand. “You _know_ this is all new for me, too. I didn’t even think… Jesus, Timmy. Until you walked in I didn’t think I even wanted to have sex with anyone. Period. I feel like you gave me whiplash.” I don’t know where the honesty comes from, only that I want his embarrassment to go away. I feel it too, I wish he understood that.

“Liar.” He starts to smile and relax a little, which makes me feel better. “You’re eighteen. There’s no way you didn’t want to have sex.”

“Well, I mean yeah _in_ _theory._ But I wasn’t allowed to look at guys, Timmy. Girls don’t…” I can’t look at him—now it’s _my_ face turning colors. “I don’t get hard with girls,” I blurt out. “And guys were never an option, not even to _look_ at, you don’t get it. You got to… _look_ , you know? Think about it. I never got to look at a guy and think I might… want that.”

“This is what I mean.” His words come after a solid minute of torturous silence. I look at him, meaning to ask for clarity, but he shifts and his free hand is running up and down my arm again absentmindedly. It feels so good that a part of my brain wonders if he could actually turn me on from just this, a tiny touch and his head on my pillows. “I don’t want to rush either of us just because I leave soon. You’re _just_ figuring this stuff out and I’m… Can we just agree to go slow and let whatever happens… happen?”

“Yeah,” I nod. I think I’m okay with that. There’s an itching at the back of my throat though, and I don’t want to ask but this dark room and his touch lure me into a feeling of complete acceptance. It makes me bolder, _he_ makes me bolder. “Tim…” He looks up quickly to meet my eyes. “Are you… afraid… you’d regret it?” He blinks twice and swallows hard before gripping my bicep in his wandering hand. The anxiety residing in the moments before he answers me does more to kill the high I felt moments ago than a bucket of cold water probably could.

“No,” he says softly. _Thank god._

“Then I don’t… I guess I just don’t understand. Because I know you _—want_ me, this.” He looks away from me shyly and I start to worry. “If you’re not ready, just tell me. I feel like I’m laying myself out here right now,” I whisper, voice tensing. He’s always the brave one, this shift sets me off balance. I need his words, he worries me when he doesn’t use his words.

“I…” He takes a deep breath and pulls himself a little closer to me to kiss my shoulder and hide his face against me. He’s so soft and innocent like this; it reminds me that I should be trying to protect him just as much as he’s trying to protect me. My free hand lifts to his hair and he molds himself against my side with a staggered sigh. “It’s not that I’m not ready. Armie… If we sleep together, I’ll get too attached,” he whispers, face still hidden.

Attached. I think about his words, what they mean to me. Would I also get attached? Of course, I think. How could I not, I already was, more than I’d ever been with anyone. I can hear the words he isn’t saying, the _and then I’ll leave you_ that neither one of us is ready to face. Maybe he’s right. Maybe all this talk is only going to make the goodbye worse. Maybe sleeping together will make it impossible to let go, and I already don’t _want_ to let go.

I don’t want him to leave me, I don’t want him to be scared like this. I want so badly to keep him here with me, or take me with him, for us to not have to talk about this. “I don’t want to make this worse,” he whispers, and I know he must be thinking of leaving, too.

“You can’t make leaving _worse_. It’s going to hurt like hell no matter what.” His grip tightens around my arm and his face presses closer to my shoulder as his leg drapes over mine.

“I shouldn’t have started this.” Shouldn’t have—I look down in alarm and use my hand in his hair to tug until he looks at me. His eyes are watery and he sniffles. “It’s just going to hurt us both.”

“ _Don’t._ You have no idea,” I whisper. “ _No idea_ how much you’ve changed my life. Even if it’s only a few days, you’re the most important person to me right now. Please don’t regret this.”

“No, I don’t!” He hurries to shift so he’s sitting up with his hands framing my face. “I don’t, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I just… I wish this was just…that we…” Didn’t have to say goodbye, had more time, weren’t trapped in secrecy. I get it.

“Me too.”

“God, Armie,” he sighs, leaning down to press his face against my neck. I let my arms loop around his waist, but it’s difficult until he shifts so he’s laying down again, still on my chest, face close enough to kiss. “I’m falling so hard for you,” he whispers, tears in his eyes. “I’m so scared. I don’t want to get hurt.” I kiss him, our lips moving slowly. I don’t know what words to use, how to speak when he’s like this, so vulnerable and open, so beautiful and willing to let me hold him, speaking truths I can only repeat back because I feel them deep in my bones, too. When I pull back, I try to tell him I know exactly what he means, but the emotion catches in my throat and he nods, touches my cheek, and whispers, “I know, it’s okay. I know.”

For a long time, we just lay together and stare into each other’s eyes. He traces my face and I try to hold him so he knows I want him to feel as safe as I feel around him. He kisses me softly once and lays back down, his eyes slipping shut. Every second with him is precious, numbered—I worry he’ll fall asleep and move so we’re both on our sides facing each other, not even bothering to feel guilty for how tired we’ll be tomorrow. His eyes flutter open in confusion, but I smooth my hand over his hair and it seems to settle him. “Thank you,” I tell him.

“For what?”

“Everything,” I shrug. “You’re so good at this, I have no idea what I’m doing and you make this feel… _good_. Like I can be me and we can be together. Like there’s reason to hope.” I just need to say it, tell him now, because I know in the morning my nerve might leave without the darkness covering us in safety.

“Of course,” he smiles. “You’re better at this than you think, though.”

“Only because of you.”

“Maybe,” he chuckles, shifting to get closer.

“I feel like I’m constantly out of me depth here,” I admit. “You’re the only thing keeping me grounded. It seems so easy for you to just… be vulnerable.”

“Only because of you,” he smirks, eyes closing as he repeats my answer. I like that, that he’s teasing me. I trace his lips with my finger and he sighs, his eyes opening. “I’m serious, you know. I guess I’m always a little more open than most people but with you…I know it matters. That you feel comfortable. So I try to help however I can, and I know you like it when I say things I’m feeling so I just… get over myself when it’s awkward or I’m nervous and say them. So you feel better about doing the same thing, so _we both_ feel better about us. I like that I can do that, that you can lean on me. It makes me feel important to you.” By the time he’s done, I feel tears stinging my eyes. Exhaustion and emotion are apparently a deadly combination for my tear ducts. He reaches up and touches the place a tear slips out with a small smile. The way he looks at me takes my breath away, it’s so soft and delicate and beautiful. Yet it’s strong because it’s him, and he’s trying to be something no one has ever been for me. I love that he does this, that he figured out I needed this. I love that he’s laying here in my bed and holding me together with his sleepy eyes and quiet voice. I love that he has this hold on me, that he wants to protect me and be protected by me. I love this, I love him.

 _I love him_.

Do I love him? Is it too soon? Does it matter?

He moves even closer when it becomes apparent that I have no words to give him, only tears and kisses. Our arms layer over each other as we face one another, our legs intertwining with how close we are. He’s sharing my pillow again and I hope it smells like him tomorrow. I’m content to just sleep like this, but he presses a little closer and shifts down so his head is tucked under my chin. “Is this okay?” he asks quietly. We’re so close now that I feel as though he really is a part of me.

“Yes,” I whisper. “I love this.”

“Me, too,” he smiles, pressing his lips against me. We start drifting off, the sound of his breathing lulling me to sleep. I jolt awake a while later, breathing labored, and he lifts his head sleepily to look at me. “Okay?” he asks. I nod, closing my eyes again, and he shifts so his back is against me. “You can hold me,” he tells me. “It’s okay.”

And it helps, having him even closer, my arm wrapping around him to keep him in place. He’s warm and his shoulders scrunch up around me when I sigh against his neck, shivers going through me at the movement. “Better?” His hand moves to cover mine against his chest as he settles deeper into my arms. I hum in response, already drifting off again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note on the chapter count-- It's tentative! I think I'm looking at 18 chapters, but they're not all done so I don't know for sure if that's 100% accurate yet. That's my estimation breaking down the content I have left into chapters, but fear not!! There's a lot coming your way still. HUGE shout out to everyone who's been commenting. Yall make my day(s)

I forgot to set my normal alarm, which was my first mistake. The second was apparently not locking my door.

There’s a knock, that’s what initially disrupts my sleep, followed by the sound of a creaking door. I groan and bury my head into the pillow, but—it’s not a pillow, it’s hair, it’s curly hair and a warm neck. _Timmy_. My eyes fly open as he presses back against me, tugs my arm closer around his chest, his shoulders pulling up to his ears with a content sigh. His hair smells so good and he the more he scrunches himself up, the closer he pulls me in towards him like a blanket. God, I love this so much more than I thought I might—he’s so warm and soft and I want nothing more than to snuggle up with him for the rest of the day, keep him against my chest, his breathing steady. I tighten my arm around him and smile when he hums, his leg shifting to press back between mine. I thank God I didn’t wake up hard, I don’t need that problem today.

“Armie, come on. Please do _not_ make me come in there,” Vik says. _Vik._ My hand slips from Timmy’s chest to his hip so I can look at the time over my shoulder.

“Oh, _shit_!” I mutter, rolling onto my back. “I’m up, I’m up. Close the door.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” he says, the door clicking shut a moment later.

“Tim,” I sigh, looking over at him as he rolls onto his stomach. His face turns to look at me with a sleepy smile and I question the likelihood of me getting away with calling in sick—his lips are bright red, his cheeks too (perhaps I was too warm? Does he just look like this in the morning?), his hair all over the place and his arms are tucked under his chest. “Damn, you’re cute.” It takes his eyes slipping shut and his grin growing for me to realize I’ve said it out loud.

“Morning,” he whispers. “Why is it still dark out?”

“Yeah, early shifts, I’m sorry,” I whisper, reaching out to rub his back. I can feel his spine under my fingers, his shoulder blades, goosebumps forming under my touch. He’s warm still, from _my_ body. He hums again and scoots closer. “I should have warned you.”

“Stay,” he breathes, moving one of his tucked arms to reach out to me. He rests his hand palm up on me, opening and closing a fist until I slip my own in his grip. I could fucking cry, it’s so tempting and he’s so warm and I want to, I really want to.

“I can’t,” I tell him, hating everything because it’s true. I lean down and kiss his shoulder before pressing my forehead against it. “I would stay, believe me. I would stay here all day with you if I could.”

“Do I have to get up now?” he yawns.

“No. You can stay,” I decide, shifting so I can kiss him. He leans up to me eagerly, his lips pressing against mine with the same softness his body showed against mine when we slept. “But I have to get ready.” He smirks suddenly and grips my shirt to prevent me from moving away.

“Yeah? You gonna take off your clothes?” he whispers, lips brushing against mine.

“Timmy, what the fuck,” I laugh, eyes slipping shut. “Oh god, you’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” He chuckles and kisses me again, his hand smoothing over my chest. “Stop picturing me naked,” I tease, tickling his side. He yelps and collapses into a ball, yanking my comforter around his body as a protective shield until I yield.

“I’ll miss you,” he whispers when we settle.

“I’ll miss you.” I press my forehead against his and take a deep breath. “I really have to get ready, I’m sorry.”

“S’okay. I’ll find you later. When’s your break?”

“Not sure. The storm is probably still pretty bad, so you might be stuck inside again. You can ask Vik if you need to find me, he’ll be cool.”

“Okay,” he nods, resting his head on his arms as they fold in front of his face. I stare at him for a moment, trying to remember him in my bed, my blankets tucked around his body. “Aren’t you supposed to be getting naked?”

“Timmy!” I laugh, cheeks tinting pink. I’ve never felt wanted like this, it’s intoxicating.

“Sorry,” he smiles, kicking me under the covers. “Go, I’ll cover my eyes.”

“No you won’t,” I smile knowingly.

“So?” I don’t know how we got here, I don’t really remember ever being this bold with him, this… buoyant and flippant about our attraction to each other. I like it, though. It’s like last night made it okay to talk about this, to tease each other, to acknowledge that we thought of each other this way, too. Knowing he wants me just as badly as I want him makes it a hell of a lot easier to be vulnerable like this.

I stand and walk over to my closet and start taking out some of my work clothes. The bed shifts and I know he’s moving, but can’t bring myself to turn. I slip my shirt off and take my time putting on the clean one, my face warm but hidden from his view. My pants are next and I go a little faster with those, still self-conscious and nervous when the sound of the sheets rustling against each other fills the room. When I put my shoes on, I finally turn to find him sitting up on the bed, facing me. His hair is even messier somehow and he smiles at me warmly. “Kiss?” he asks, his shoulders shrugging up again. I walk over to the bed and lean down to kiss him, his hands lifting to my hair immediately. I don’t care that we haven’t brushed our teeth, I just want to keep kissing him. There’s another knock at the door and he pulls away from me before straightening my shirt and pressing my hair down with a little smile. “Have a good day at work,” he grins.

And I love it, I love it so much that I almost slip and tell him I love _him_. I want this forever, I think. I want to wake up to him and kiss him goodbye, or maybe he’d kiss me goodbye, and we’d hold hands and make dinner together at night.

I press my nose against his cheek briefly and whisper a quick _thanks_ before walking away and opening the door. Vik is standing there with a raised hand. “Oh! Um… you’re ready,” he says with a nod, avoiding looking into my room.

“He’s not naked, calm down.” I shove his shoulder so I can slip out of the room.

“He’s staying?” Vik asks, peering in to wave before I shut the door.   
“I’m not going to force him to get up now, it’s early as fuck, Vik.”

“He seems pretty awake to me.”

“Is it a problem?” Suddenly, I’m nervous that I’ve pushed my luck too far with his understanding.

“No! No, I don’t care. It’s fine. If he wants to stay it’s okay with me, you’ve put up with my… friends,” he smirks.

“He is _not_ like your ‘friends’,” I roll my eyes. After going to the bathroom and brushing my teeth, I grab my keys and nod at him. “Come on. Let’s go before Dad comes looking for us.”

The morning is slow, probably because my mind is still back in bed with Timmy. After an hour of work, Viktor walks over and throws a book at me. I catch it at the last second and glare at him, but he’s just laughing and looking around. Mom was in the kitchen and Dad was working on something in the back, maybe finances, who knew. The staff was already up and around, getting ready for the day. The storm wasn’t as bad, but it still seemed like it would stop some more hesitant guests from going out. There would be no lessons, so Vik is stuck inside the lodge again. “So, how was it?” he asks, smirking.

“How was what?” I ask, walking over to the bookshelf to put the book back.

“You know.”

I turn and look at him, narrowing my eyes as his grin grows. “Oh, you must be kidding. I _know_ you don’t want to know.”

His grin fades quickly and he looks around, ensuring the coast is clear I guess, and walks over so he’s close enough to whisper. “Sorry, but this is _huge_. You’ve never brought _anyone_ back to the room!”

“Vik… Look, nothing happened,” I reply, my ears warming. “I’d really appreciate it if we didn’t have to talk about it right now, though.” He drops it for a few hours, that is until the guests are around. Every time someone comes downstairs, my eyes lift. I wish I was less obvious, but I can’t help it. I wonder how long he stayed in bed, if he looked around my room, if he read my books. I want to know if he put on any of my clothes, if he showered. I want him to replace everything in my life with memories of him only.

His parents come downstairs before he does, which startles me. Nicole looks for me and smiles when she sees me, waving me over to them. Dad is walking around somewhere, but I don’t see him at the moment so I go. My heart is racing so fucking fast as I see Marc touch her back and whisper in her ear, the two of them exchanging a look as I near. I wonder if they know, if he ever told them. God, did he tell them? Were they looking for him? Would they ask me what happened, where he was? I start panicking, it’s a spiral and I’m caught in the spin. “Good morning, Armie,” she greets, pulling me into a hug. I’m so floored I don’t even return the gesture, too shocked to move, body uncertain of what it’s supposed to do in this situation that is equal parts relief and stress with her greeting. She smiles warmly and pats my shoulder. Mom can be warm, but this is different. This is _his_ mom. I blink at her, still a little stunned at her affection—I feel undeserving and entirely unnerved. “How are you this morning?”

“I’m well,” I smile carefully, willing my heart to slow. It’s fine, clearly. No reason to worry. _Can they tell that I still feel their son’s skin against my hands? His lips on mine? That I was desperately hoping some part of my bed smelled like him?_

“Timmy will be down soon,” she says. I take a deep breath and will away the blush creeping up my neck. _Here we go_.

“You two seem to have become quite bonded.” I turn to look at Marc as he speaks, his smile easy but almost cautious. Oh god, I’m going to be sick.

“He’s a good friend,” I nod, my head starting to pound in time with my heart. I wish they’d just tell me what they knew, is it rude to ask if they know? If they don’t will I tip them off? He eyes me with a growing smile and looks away—oh fuck, what does that mean?

“I’m sure he’d want you to know he’s just getting dressed. Perhaps we’ll see you after breakfast,” Marc adds, glancing at Nicole.

“Oh, yeah maybe.” So he’s in their room, he’s left mine, so they either know or he got back before they woke up. Marc’s smirk makes me think it’s the former. My heart races. Did they want to talk to me because they knew? Oh god, they must know. They probably think I fucked him, oh my god I’m freaking out. What if he asks what my intentions are, is that a thing people still do? Nicole tilts her head as she looks at me, like she’s trying to figure me out. I think I’m hyperventilating.

“Are you alright?” she asks, reaching out.

“I actually have to go check on something,” I tell them, trying to smile, smooth my hands over my pants. “Excuse me.”

I walk away quickly towards the staff elevator and press the button repeatedly until the doors open and let me in. I press his floor number and try to breathe, pressing my body against the cool surface of the wall, my heart _hurting_ with how hard it’s pounding, my head, too. It’s almost like a migraine—I feel faint as the elevator chimes. I practically run down to his room, not caring anymore if someone sees me, not caring that I’m on shift. I can’t breathe and his room is the only thing I can zero in on. I knock on the door, my forehead pressing against the wood until it opens.

“Armie?” I move him aside to walk in and nearly collapse the moment the door shuts. “Oh my god, are you okay?” He’s on me instantly, his arms around my body, his hands in my hair. “Breathe, Armie.” I press my lips against his and let him hold me as I break away, air heaving in and out of my lungs.

“Your parents,” I gasp. “They, I can’t, I, I’m having, anxiety—” I can’t make my voice work properly and he tries to get me to sit down, his arms still holding me close to his chest when we make it to the floor.

“Breathe,” he tells me, rubbing my back. “It’s alright, I’ve got you, just breathe.” I close my eyes tightly and lean most of my weight against him, our bodies slumped against the wall. The aching in my chest and lungs starts to ease up but the headache lingers until my breathing starts slowing significantly.

“You said my parents? Armie, baby. They don’t know I stayed there, I came back before they were awake. I need you to calm down, breathe with me.” I nod and continue steadying my breathing; it’s a lot easier knowing that the basis for my attack has been disproved, but my body is slow to catch up to my mind. His fingers run through my hair and his lips press against my face over and over again. It reminds me of when I was younger, when my mother would pull me into her lap and kiss my forehead when it ached.

Eventually, my breathing evens out and he pulls my face up to his to kiss me. “You’re okay.”

“Sorry,” I mumble. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“It’s okay.” His hands run over my hair, rest on my shoulders, touch my face. I finally get look at him and smile when I see he’s in one of my shirts and a dark wash of jeans, his hair a bit more styled than it was when I left him this morning. I tug at the shirt and lean in to press my lips against his cheek, smiling as I pull away, body drained but content in his arms. “Oh, yeah… is this okay? That I took it?” he asks, hand covering mine. “I’m going to wear a sweater, so your family won’t see don’t worry. I just… I wanted a piece of you.”

“Take whatever you want,” I tell him honestly. I lift my hand to his face and feel everything bubble up in me. I take a few deep breathes to stop myself from being completely overwhelmed by the simple fact that he just calmed me down from an anxiety attack, in _my shirt,_ without batting an eye.

“I have to go,” I whisper now that I have control of myself. I wish I had more time to recover and sit with him, but I know every second I’m not at work is a lecture I’ll have to face. He looks disappointed, almost like he’s biting the inside of his cheek, and I can’t blame him. “I didn’t tell anyone I was leaving.”

“Armie,” he sighs.

“I was freaking out, I didn’t have a choice.” He stares at me for a moment and leans in to kiss me, his arms snaking up around my neck.

“Come find me whenever you need me,” he says, tucking my hair back with careful fingers. I nod and kiss him one last time before standing up. He pulls me in for a big hug before I leave and kisses my cheek as I leave despite everything in my body telling me to stay. “Be nice to yourself,” he whispers, fingers tightening in the fabric of my shirt before releasing me. Walking away feels wrong, but I do it anyway.

When I make it downstairs, Dad is pissed and pacing, waiting for me. I knew he would be, but it’s still a lot when my body is barely recovering. He grips my arm and drags me towards the back of the lodge and pushes me through the door to his office before starting, as I knew he would. “What the hell were you doing?” he shouts.

“I—”

“Don’t answer that! You are at _work!_ This is not a game. How are you ever supposed to be successful if you can’t manage to see to your basic duties here, huh?”

“I’m sorry, sir.” I know the only way out is submission, but my body is shaking.

“What excuse could you _possibly_ have for walking away and not telling anyone? Answer me!”

“I was sick, sir,” I say, thankful I’d come up with this in the elevator down.

“Sick?” he asks, throwing the word back at me like an accusation. _“Sick?”_

“It felt like a migraine and I thought I might throw up, sir. I’m sorry. I should have told someone.”

“You’re damn right, you should have told someone.” I wait quietly while he paces until he stops in front of me. “Are you alright now?”

“Yes, sir. I feel much better.”

“Then go back out there.” I nod and begin walking towards the door but he stops me. “Armie,” he says, his voice softening. He rarely calls me Armie when I’m at work, it takes me by surprise. I know this means he’s shifted to _parent_ mode. “We didn’t know where you were.” If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was worried about me. I shift uncomfortably on my feet. He clears his throat and places his hands on his hips. “If you told me you were sick this wouldn’t have been a problem.”

“I understand.”

“Okay… go out there. If you need to leave, you tell someone.”

“Yes, sir,” I nod.

“Alright. Go on then.”

Timmy is in the lobby when I return, his eyes finding mine quickly. I try to smile but worry my father is following me and will see, so it’s brief. I think he saw though, because he nods and looks back at his parents. I sneak peaks at him from the front desk until he disappears from my vision some time later, at which point Viktor approaches me.

“You ran off to him, didn’t you?” I say nothing. “Wow. Okay so he’s… this really is a big deal for you,” he whispers. I glance at him and shrug. “I won’t tell Mom and Dad. I know you’re nervous.” I stay silent and look down at the log in front of me. “He’s nice.” I chuckle and close my eyes. It seems he won’t drop it, so I might as well lean in a little.

“He’s _amazing_ ,” I correct him. He rolls his eyes and smiles at me, shoving me lightly.

“Where’s he from?”

“New York,” I sigh, looking back down. I can’t talk about this, I don’t want to think about him leaving ever. I take a deep breath and walk away from him to go towards the fire to build it up a little.

I can’t find him when it’s time for my lunch break. I grab some food and try to stop myself from frantically searching, telling myself it’s fine if I don’t see him for another couple of hours. I wander away from the main floor and go to my room to get a few minutes of peace before returning to work and smile the second I walk in. The bed’s unmade, my comforter haphazardly tossed in some sort of heap where he must have pushed them off his body this morning, my pillows moved around almost in an L shape—I wonder if he held one of them against his chest after I left. It makes me warm, thinking about him finding comfort in my bed. The shirt he was wearing last night is folded neatly on the edge of the bed, a piece of paper folded up on top of it. I walk over and pick it up, smiling at his handwriting.

> _Armie,_
> 
> _If the storm isn’t bad, I’ll probably be on the slopes today. I don’t know when I’ll see you. Find me when you’re off work, come to my room._

I smile when I look at his name, a little heart next to it. He teased me about being a romantic, but I think he’s to blame as well. I pick up his shirt and smell it, hug it to my chest. He’s on the slopes, that’s why I couldn’t find him, I tell myself. I wonder if he’ll be cold when he’s back, if I could hold his hands to warm them up. I put his shirt back on my bed and stuff the note in my pocket before turning to leave the room to return to work, a little more satisfied than before.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Abrupt end I know but this sets the next chapter up!!


	12. Chapter 12

The day passes too slow for my taste. Mom hovers in the afternoon, asking how I feel every ten minutes. I really could get away with it, I guess—faking sick. I don't see him even as I'm doing my final rounds for the evening. I contemplate asking staff if they've seen them, but I was pushing it so much as is, so I let it go and wait.

I'm not very patient, is what I learn. I keep thinking he'll walk in with red cheeks and a grin, his eyes meeting mine in the lobby and shining brightly. I keep waiting but it doesn't happen. Instead, I check in with my parents before walking upstairs to my room. I pace for awhile but that's not nearly enough of a distraction. I grab his shirt and put it on, laughing softly when it tugs tightly over my torso, barely fitting. If he didn't wear somewhat baggy shirts, it never would have fit at all. I pull the neckline up to smell and smile, my body sinking back onto the bed, still unmade. My shoes get kicked off somewhere to the side of the bed and I climb into the warmth, my body occupying the spot his did last night in the hope that something of him lingers, his warmth, smell, anything.

I hear Vik come home and sigh when he knocks on my door. "You in there?" He opens the door and sees me, his face scrunching up before he laughs. "What are you doing?" I shrug and he laughs before walking in to lean against my desk. "Is this you moping?"

"Maybe," I grumble.

"Oh my god. He's back, if that's what you—"

"He is?" I sit up, heart leaping in my chest.

"Oh my god," he laughs. "Okay, yes, but first what the hell, are you wearing his clothes? You're right, he is nothing like my friends."

"Shut up," I roll my eyes, slipping out of the bed and grabbing a sweatshirt.

"Wait," he grabs my arm when I move to leave. "Please don’t hate me but. If you're planning on bringing him back again I need you to admit this."

"What?" There's a sinking feeling in my stomach but he doesn't look upset or cruel so I try to stop myself from jumping to terrible conclusions.

"I _know_ , okay," he says softly. "I know. About you. But I think _you_ need to say it because this is clearly real. I mean, Jesus. He slept in your bed and you didn't try anything? You're in his clothes? That’s not just some fling—Armie, this isn't going to go away when he does. And you're going to need someone by your side when it goes south, because you _know_ it will. Eventually they'll find out." I nod at him, knowing he's right. I swallow hard and look down at the sweatshirt in my hand. "You’re my big brother, man. Let me do this for you, I want the first time you tell someone to be positive. Someone other than him, that is."

My eyes meet his and he smiles, the acceptance there so overwhelming that I can't breathe. I know he knows, that this is absolutely just a formality. Still, I almost wish he wouldn't push it. If he didn't, though, would I ever say it? Would I ever _formally_ come out to him when he gave me the comfort of knowing we both knew without the words being out there? I need to say the words out loud to _someone_ , he's not wrong there. It'll just fester in my chest if I don't. I nod slowly and clear my throat, shuffle on my feet. "I'm uh," I start, breath hitching. I meet his eyes and breathe deeply, peace coming over me suddenly despite the rush of adrenaline I feel being so close to saying it. "I'm gay." His smile is immediate, his arms around me only a moment slower. I hug him back and heave out a heavy sigh, head falling against his shoulder with a thud. We don't really hug that often, so it's almost awkward. That is, it _should_ be awkward, but it just feels nice to know I have him on my side. Feeling bold, I breathe deep when he pulls away from me and chase the feeling of relief; "I _really_ like him, man."

"I know you do," Vik nods, smiling. "I'll cover for you. Go find him. I want to meet him for real, though."

" _Viktor._ " God, too good to be true, I knew it. He's going to embarrass me, I just know it.

"If you bring him back, I just want to say hi! That's it. Then I'll go to my room I swear. How many times am I going to get to see you like this, man?"

"Like what?"

"This happy! I just want to see the two of you once, okay? Then I can confidently defend you if Mom or Dad ever tries to use him against you."

"Vik…" My voice suddenly tapers out and I don't know what to say. I nod and squeeze his shoulder before he shrugs and tells me he's happy for me and I'd better leave soon.

I walk to his room quickly, eager to see him again. When I knock, his Mom answers with a big smile. "Armie! I suppose you're looking for our son. Come on in, he's getting dressed I think." I walk in and thank her, the warmth of their suite comforting.

"I wanted to apologize for earlier," I tell her with an awkward smile. "It wasn't polite to run off like that."

"Oh, that's alright," she says with a pat on my shoulder.

"Armie!" I turn at Timmy's voice, finding his smile blooming as he stands in his doorway. "Come here, I want to show you something," he says, motioning to his room. I look back at Nicole but she's already moved on to something else, walking towards the other bedroom in the suite. I follow him, desperate for his comforting touch. We walk into his room and he moves to stand in such a way that he's hidden from view with the door wide open. My arms wrap around him tightly as he presses his face against my shoulder. "Missed you," he breathes.

"Missed you." My body recognizes his as it might its own reflection. His lips seek mine and I kiss him without hesitation, knowing his parents must know by now that I am not interested in mere friendship and their distance right now is as close to approval as I'll get without asking. Despite my earlier anxiety, I find I don't actually mind if they know. They continuously did nothing but accept me with open arms, just like Viktor had. Maybe it wouldn't all be bad, coming out to people. Maybe there could be some brightness in this.

He hums against my lips and taps my shoulders happily when the kiss dissolves into a series of pecks. He laughs breathlessly, that laugh I _love_ , and rests his head against mine. I find his cheeks _are_ still a little cold, his ears red, nose chilly. It makes me smile when he shivers as my fingers ghost over his face, teasing and warming. He shifts to push my hands away and presses his face against my neck, causing me to gasp. "Timmy!"

He giggles and kisses the skin softly before stepping back. I shiver and pull his hands into mine, grateful to his gloves that he's not _too_ cold. Still, I bring them to my lips like I'd been wanting to for hours and breathe warmth onto them. He smiles at me and bites his lip. "Where are we going today?" he asks quietly, lacing his fingers through mine.

"I don't know, I actually didn't think that far ahead."

"You had _all day_ and you didn't come up with a plan?" he laughs.

"I wanted to see you, all other points were not as important as getting in front of you," I say, pulling his hands so we're closer, his chest pressed against mine. I rest my head against his and sigh, happy and content.

"So sappy," he smiles.

"Hey, I'm onto you. You're a romantic, too. You _love_ this," I say, squeezing his hands.

"Maybe," he draws out, leaning up to kiss me. He starts walking away towards his bed and tugs me with him with one hand, eyes shining when he looks back to smile at me.

We sit down and he immediately leans against my side with a sigh. "So… did you actually have something to show me, or was this just a way to get me alone?"

"I just wanted to get you alone," he smirks, looking up at me. And there it is, his reckless honesty I love so much. It’s contagious, after all—

"I came out to Vik.”

"What?! Oh my god, Armie!" He jumps up and holds his hands out, inches from my face. He smiles brightly and touches my shoulders. "That's amazing, you really said it?"

"Yeah," I nod, my face starting to lift in a smile to match his. "I told him I'm gay."

"Armie!" He leans down to press his forehead against mine. "I am so proud of you," he whispers, kissing me. I pull him closer and he ends up sitting on my knees, scooting up closer to my lap as the kiss deepens. "So proud," he whispers, fingers in my hair. If I knew this would be the reaction, I would have led with it, I think as his fingers trace down to my throat, tugging at my neckline gently. "How did it feel?"

"Good," I breathe, staring at him fondly. "Normal, actually. It wasn't scary this time. He gave me a hug and said he wanted to meet you," I laugh awkwardly, hands roaming his thighs. The movement is comforting for me, but he shifts and I realize it might be doing something different to him, so I stop and loop my arms around him instead.

"So are we going to your place, then?"

"I guess at some point?"

"Okay, I should probably tell my parents that I'm not coming home tonight. I cut it kind of close this morning," he confesses, leaning in to kiss me, perhaps to distract me. It only kind of works.

"Will they care?" I ask, realizing only after I ask that we've just somehow decided he will stay with me again. I smile just thinking about it. His fingers lift to trace my lips, gently touching the lines my smile makes.

"No," he shakes his head. "They're pretty sure I'm not doing it, and they like you."

"So they _do_ know about me," I nod, comforted by the knowledge that my count of people who know about me is rising and yet the animosity isn't. This morning's anxiety isn't completely settled, but definitely subdued.

"I mean… I haven't told them you are. But they know I like you a lot and they know we're spending time together, so they probably came to their own conclusions," he says, smoothing his hands over my face. "Is that okay?"

"I think so," I nod. "I think I want them to know? Is that weird?"  
"No," he smiles. "You can tell whoever you want. That's the rule, it's your decision."

"Maybe I should tell them," I muse out loud, leaning in to rest my forehead against his chest. His hands run through my hair and tug at it, scratch my scalp. It feels so good that I don't really want to move, not now or ever. "I got his kind of adrenaline rush after telling Vik," I mumble.

"Yeah, I get it too when I tell someone new. Like kind of anxious but also kind of good? Like a relief."

"Yes, exactly," I nod, his sweater rubbing against my cheek. He smells like snow and fresh laundry.

"You can tell them if you want. They'll be nice. But only if you want to, it doesn't matter to me. It's your choice."

"Okay," I whisper. I like him like this; his weight is oddly comforting and his hands in my hair make me feel warm and wanted. I can feel his heartbeat against my cheek and move my hands so they snake under his sweater and shirt— _my shirt_ , I think idly, wondering if he changed out of it or not—until I brush against skin. His breath shudders out of him and the hands in my hair tug sharply. I chuckle, endorphins coursing through my body as I hold him tighter and snuggle up so my face is against his neck.

"You're teasing me," he laughs breathlessly. "Isn't that _my_ job? Where is this confidence coming from?" He sounds so lovely, his voice soft and almost teasing. I kiss his neck and move to look at him, finding the kindest look in his eyes he's ever given me. "You're blossoming," he whispers. "So beautiful." His fingers ghost my cheeks and jaw gently.

"Knock knock," Marc says his fist connecting with the door in time with his words. I jump and feel embarrassment seep deep into my bones as Timmy climbs off my lap and walks over to the door. "Mom and I are going to go down to the lobby for awhile to read. I'm assuming I know the answer to this, but I thought I'd ask anyway. Do you want two want to join?"

"I think it's best if we don't," Timmy shrugs. My brain starts working through the abundance of embarrassment running through me and allows me to walk over to join them. I take a deep breath and smile at Marc, my heart pounding sharply.

"I'm uh…" Timmy looks back at me, confused for only a moment before his head falls to the side a little and bumps against my shoulder, his hand slipping into mine sensing my imbalance and correcting it himself. "I'm not exactly," I try again, looking from Timmy to his dad. "Out."

"Oh! Well that's alright," he nods, looking between Timmy and me.

"I'm gay," I blurt out, heart so loud it's all I hear, the only other thing registering is Timmy's hand squeezing mine. If he wasn't holding me I'd be on the floor already, the adrenaline leaving me so lightheaded and keyed up, but in a good way. He starts to smile and nod with a soft little laugh that reminds me of Timmy.

"I figured, son. You're more than welcome here," he tells me, reaching out to grip my arm in a gesture I think can only mean he approves. "If you two change your mind, you know where to find us. Are you planning on hanging around here?"

"Oh, we'll probably go to his suite at some point. His brother wants to say hi," Timmy says.

"Hmm," Marc nods. "Well that's fine. Timothée would you walk with me for a moment. Excuse us, Armie," he smiles, reaching out for Timmy. He goes with his dad and throws a smile over his shoulder for me, but the adrenaline of coming out _again_ leaves me a little drained and without him by my side, I feel the need to sit down. His dad must be talking to him about me. I can't worry about it, he seemed to like me just fine. I have to control the fear before it controls me, so I fight it with logic, knowing if he didn't approve he would have told me right away, wouldn't have smiled or accepted me. This isn't a bad talk, I tell myself.

When Timmy returns, he walks right over to me and runs a hand through my hair and kisses my cheek, pulling me into a hug. "You good?"

"Yeah," I nod, taking a deep breath with a smile when his face nuzzles closer to me.

"Good."

"Did he… was it about me?"

"Yep," Timmy says, popping the _p_.

"… _and?"_

"And it's going to make you blush so I'm not saying it if I can't see you," he smirks, ears a little pink when he pulls back to look at me.

"Oh god," I groan, sensing the nature of the conversation.

"He gave me condoms," Timmy smirks, cheeks tinting pink.

"Oh my _god!_ "

"Ah, there it is," Timmy laughs, hands lifting to my cheeks to follow the rush of red flowing over them. "You're so cute when you blush."

"He gave you _condoms?!"_

"He wants me to be safe," Timmy says, trying to be serious but breaking and laughing.

"My dad would kill me," I shake my head. The mood sobers in a way I hadn't meant for it to and I feel like shit for breaking his mood. "Not _literally_."

"Right," he nods. His smile doesn't quite reach his eyes.

"Can we go back to when you were teasing me," I grumble, anything to take my mind off of the differences between our families. He leans in and kisses me softly before wrapping his arms around my neck. It takes a minute but I feel the residual negative energy leaving us. In a way, his silence while I recover makes me feel stronger somehow.

"It’s probably because… he kind of knows I didn't come home last night," Timmy whispers after we hear the door close and his Mom shout out a _Have fun!_

"I thought you said—"

"I know, I thought they didn't know. Apparently Dad woke up in the middle of the night and noticed. He just told me when I asked if I could stay out late."

"Oh," I nod, shifting a little.

"He said it wasn't a big deal," Timmy assures me.

"No, but he did give you condoms."

"He said it was fine if I stayed there tonight," Timmy tries again.

"Timmy, he thinks—"

"And so what?" I stare back at him as he challenges me. "Armie, so _what_? Yeah, he thinks we might be. But he still made sure I had an extra key to this room and asked if I was comfortable with you and then said he liked you. You're worrying about this because you know how your parents would react, but you have to know by now that my parents are different, okay?" I stare at him and swallow hard, my heart clenching slightly. "Sorry," he mutters, pulling me back in for a hug. "I know your situation is shit. I'm sorry. But this is a different story and if my parents think we're having sex it's different than if yours think that, okay? He wouldn't have left us alone if he didn't trust us. He won't out you or get mad at you, I promise." Logically, I know he's right, that I'm likely projecting my own experiences with my parents onto his and anticipating responses accordingly. I hug him tighter and nod. "He's trying to cover his bases here. He's out of his element, too. He's just as worried about offending you, for the record," Timmy adds.

"Really?"

"Yeah, he asked if he was doing okay," Timmy smiles, touching my ear, rubbing it gently between his fingers absentmindedly. It kind of tickles but I don't shake him off. "I don't really bring boyfriends around, I actually… I don't really have boyfriends. So. It's new for everyone, okay?" I smile, my heart picking up the pace as I look into his eyes.

"Boyfriend?" His face splits into a grin and he rolls his eyes dramatically, his fingers at my ear tugging playfully.

"I mean, yeah. I guess. If that's okay? I don't really want to say goodbye to you and have that be it."

"Me either." I pull him closer. "Boyfriends," I muse, almost embarrassed at how giddy it makes me feel.

"Oh my god, you're adorable," he laughs, lifting himself up to kiss me. "Is that what you want? To be my boyfriend?" he asks shyly, his confidence revealing a tiny crack in his armor.

"Yes, absolutely," I nod, grateful he allows me to reassure him in these little ways. "I'm introducing you to Vik as my boyfriend, I hope you know that." He grins at me and I grin back, feeling lighter than I have all day.

"So fucking proud of you," he chuckles, reaching up to pull me into a kiss.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i could not resist also my muses are impossible to control i am but a slave to the inspiration


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> READ ME!!
> 
> Okay so this chapter was like, really interesting to sit down and write. If you want to get into my process a little, go listen to January Rain by David Gray. I listened to it on repeat for this chapter because I needed to capture a certain feeling, and nothing helps me do that more than music. There's a part in here where Armie stares at Timmy (you'll know it when it happens) and that song is the perfect soundtrack to that moment. Seriously, I can't stress this enough, if this were a movie that song would play during that scene because it's literally the perfect match to what I was trying to capture. 
> 
> Okay, read on!!

I'm not going to be lie, I _really_ like kissing Timmy. We make out in his room for a while, his body settled back on my lap with a sly little smile that makes my mind turn to mush as he trails his fingers over my neck. There are moments his tongue skims mine and I feel like I'm being shocked, my body shifting and rising, inevitably causing him to grip me tighter to stop from losing his balance. I learn it's not just his ribs that are ticklish, it's his thighs too, his hips. My fingers dig into his upper thighs at some point, his reaction an immediate and flustered _stop, stop_ , his hands clawing at mine as he explained he was ticklish. We stop every other minute and rest our foreheads together while we catch our breath, his fingers always light on my body. My back aches a little from sitting at the edge of the bed for so long, but I don't really want to risk him getting off my lap so I suck it up.

"Armie?" he breathes after awhile, lips red and a little puffed up. He stares at his hands on my chest, our breathing a little labored. Instead of answering, I allow my hands to skim up his body to his neck so I can lift his chin to get him to look at me, shivers going through the both of us at the contact. He shifts a little and brings our bodies closer together, his hands tugging their way through my hair without breaking eye contact. Maybe it's the way he looks at me, maybe it's the feeling of his nails at my scalp, but I move my shaking hands to his sweater's buttons, fumbling with them as my lungs start objecting to the air I try to fill them with. "Armie?" he asks again, whispers really, maybe just sighs. Maybe he doesn't even say it, maybe I just know he thinks it, our bodies speaking in ways I didn't realize they could.

The sweater has three buttons at the top but needs to be pulled off. I look into his eyes and wonder if this is okay, if this is a line we shouldn't cross, but he swallows and lifts his arms with a small nod. My hands drop to his waist and gather the fabric greedily in my fists to tug it up and over his frame, my shirt underneath but riding up. I tug it down sharply and continue removing the sweater, smiling faintly when it messes his hair up. He kisses me the second it's gone, his hands holding my face still to take control. It's fine by me, my hands too busy running over his back to care. I bring a hand around to his stomach and push it up to his chest, my body thrumming with energy as I spread my fingers and feel him rising and falling under the pads of my fingers with each breath he takes. We kiss, our lips meeting in sighs and groans, neither one of us making any attempt to hide this from each other. I love it, feeling this way and not caring, letting him see. I pull his body closer to mine and he moans in my ear when his hips brush against mine. "Armie," he sighs, head resting on my shoulder. My mind doesn't really remember how speech works, so I say nothing. I try to tell him with a kiss that I understand that he's overheating because so am I, that he wants to test the boundary we've constructed. I already know I'll do whatever he wants.

He ought to know by now that I'm lost for him.

His hands fall to my sides and I think he may be taking a break but instead he breathes me in near my neck and slips his hands under the sweater's material, hands skimming upwards and taking the material and my ability to breathe with them. "Off," he mouths, eyes meeting mine hazily. I nod and help him shuck it off, reach for him to kiss him and frown when his hand lifts to stop me, fingers pressed hard into my collarbone to keep me at bay. "My shirt," he whispers, hands moving to skim over my body, trace the lines of the fabric. It's thin cotton and it feels like he's taking a feather over my skin. "You're wearing my shirt."

"You're wearing mine," I point out, his eyes glued to my torso.

"Yeah but…" Our eyes meet and I can see him struggling with something under the surface, his lips curling sadly.

"Timmy?" He stares at me a little longer before snaking his arms around my waist and leaning into my body to press his cheek against my shoulder. Uncertain of what's going on with him, I opt to pull him closer to me and wrap my arms around his shoulders. It takes a solid minute for him to sniffle. Instinctually, I begin rocking us back and forth, eyes slipping shut.

"I didn't think you'd wear it," he confesses.

"Should I not have?" I worry suddenly.

"No, no I love that you did. I love it." Our bodies separate so he can touch my cheek, his fingers light and eyes a little more golden than I'm used to. "Sorry, I didn't mean to kill the mood, I just got overwhelmed." His voice is low and airy, almost like he's trying to get the words out quickly before he forgets, almost like he's sighing them or mumbling or finding his way in the dark.

"Overwhelmed?"

"Yeah, you overwhelm me. I've never fallen this hard, I'm not used to the…I guess, the love."

In the movies and books they always talk about these moments, grand moments really, where everything slows down, where the hero has a realization, says something or hears something that changes _everything._ I've felt that countless times with him, the slowing down, the importance, the gravity. I believed I understood by now that feeling of my world shifting on its axis to allow me closer to him. Yet, as the word _love_ slips out of his mouth, something happens to the air we breathe. No longer is it meant for our lungs. No, it is fuel for this thing between us, generating nothing more than a breathless promise to keep us upright long enough to understand that this is not what it is supposed to be. Teenagers are not supposed to feel this, not supposed to be capable of this emotion passing between us. That is, I'd been told as much. That I was too young to understand. That I was a romantic for wanting to believe in the kind of love I felt deep in my bones when he looks at me this way and touches my cheek.

We stare at each other, caught in this moment so thoroughly that I have no idea how much time passes before my phone starts buzzing in my pocket. He jolts from the feeling, practically falling off of my lap with a gasp and a laugh, his hands lifting to cover his face when it turns pink and falls against my shoulder and neck. I laugh breathlessly and fish the phone out of my pocket with one hand, the other moving to smooth over his back. "Just Vik," I tell him.

"Hey man," I answer.

"Hey. Listen, I think Mom's looking for you." I groan and fall backwards, forgetting that Timmy's using me for stability until he's falling on top of me with a loud _oomf,_ his hands bracing himself on my chest. I make a face and bite my lip to stop from laughing before Vik notices, Timmy rolling his eyes and looking fondly down at me. "You good?"  
"Yeah, I'm fine," I mumble, shifting Timmy off of me so I can think. He pouts but sits down next to me willingly enough. "Where is she? Did she say what she wanted?"

"No, just checking in I think because you told Dad you got sick."

"Ah, fuck. Okay."

"I just wanted to warn you. She'll keep looking and if she sees you with him--"

"Right, thanks. I'll sneak him over I guess." Timmy perks up and looks at me, his hand reaching out to touch the edge of my-- his-- shirt. "Actually, if you could see if you can find her? I'll go talk to her and then I can bring him over when she's gone."

"Yeah sure. She can't be far, I'll tell her we talked." I tell him thanks and smile at Timmy after I hang up, explain the situation, and brush his hair out of his eyes. _Sorry_ , I mouth, feeling kind of shitty tucking him away like a secret. I guess he is.

Vik tells me she's on their floor, so I tell Timmy to wait for me to text him and then come by when the coast is clear. He gives me his number with a shy smile, kisses me, and passes my sweater to me before I go, his lips lingering, nose skimming mine. He's getting so affectionate with me that it becomes harder and harder to walk away from him. I want to soak up every second with him like this, and hate that I can't. I kiss him one last time before slipping out of the room and walking to my own.

"Hey, Mom," I smile when I go inside, trying to play it cool. "I needed a walk, sorry. I didn't know you were looking for me."

"Oh, I'm glad you're alright," she fusses over my hair and straightens my sweater with a concentrated face. "How do you feel?"

"A lot better, still a little tired, though," I tell her. Maybe if I can keep this up, they'll leave me alone under the pretense of letting me recover. She asks a million questions before she starts to ease up, accept that I'm not coming down with the flu or something. Then she starts talking about work today and I glance over at Vik who looks even more bored than I do. "Mom, actually, do you mind if I … go rest?" I ask, eyeing her carefully.

"Oh! Sure, go ahead," she nods. "Your father will handle the morning rounds if you'd like to grab an extra hour of sleep," she adds, plucking a piece of nonexistent fluff off my shoulder.

"That would be great, actually. Thanks, Mom." I mean it, not for the reasons she thinks, but I do nevertheless. An extra hour in bed with Timmy, that's worth a lot to me. Vik looks bothered that I'm getting special treatment for a fake illness, but I know he won't say anything. If either of us can ever get out of something, we let it happen. Best to not risk those rare opportunities being taken away from both of us all together.

She takes _forever_ to leave, tells me she's going downstairs to check on the desk for a few hours if I need her. I text Timmy before the door even clicks shut and start pacing. "Dude, calm down," Vik laughs, eyeing me. "I'm not going to grill him."

"Yeah, but I don't know. Vik I think he told me he loves me?" I blurt out.

" _What?!_ "

"Yeah, I mean not exactly but it was _basically_ implied."

"And….?" I look over at him and shrug, fighting a smile.

"I mean, it's mutual if he does," I say quietly.

"Oh my GOD!" Vik's eyes go wide as there's a knock at the door. "Oh my god! This is huge!"

"Shut up! Don't you dare tell him!" I whisper shout at him, walking over to the door. I turn back and mime zipping his mouth closed and he holds his hands up in surrender. Satisfied, I turn back and open the door. He's wearing his pullover sweater again and bounces on his toes a little, his mouth twisting to the side in a small smile. I step aside so he can walk in and close the door quickly. "Hey," I whisper, touching his arm gently.

" _Ahem,_ " Vik fake clears his throat and saunters over. Timmy chuckles at my annoyed expression having our hello be interrupted and squeezes my bicep once.

"Timmy, this is my brother Viktor," I say, motioning to Vik. "And Vik this is uh, Timmy. My boyfriend." My heart rate spikes and a rush of chills sets over my body, Timmy visibly beaming next to me when the word leaves my lips.

"Huh, is that so?" Vik smirks, looking between us. "Well, it's good to meet you. I mean we've met but—"

"I know what you mean," Timmy laughs and nods, reaching out to shake Vik's hand. Timmy's excitement is contagious and I feel myself grinning at him, feeling more than a little in love with him and his effect on me. They chat for a few minutes comfortably and I find myself smiling so much my cheeks hurt. Timmy's hand drifts to mine at some point and laces our fingers together, so casually and innocently that it makes me fall even harder.

When we move to our tiny living area, Vik sits in a chair and lets us take the couch. Timmy sits next to me and shifts so he faces Vik, his back basically pressed against my side as he grabs my arm to tug it around his waist so we're more comfortable. He smiles at me and pats my leg once before turning his attention back to Vik to ask him a question about some book he's reading. I can't tear my eyes away from Timmy as he laughs and nods, bites his lip, speaks animatedly with my brother. He reaches for my hand sometimes to squeeze it or pressing his back against me a little, tiny reminders that he knows I'm there and cares.

I contribute where I can to the conversation, but otherwise lean in against Timmy or rub tiny circles on his hip where my hand rests, or catalog information about him that I learn (like he dabbles in Italian, can't ride a bike, is basically obsessed with film). "I think we're boring Armie," Vik laughs after a while. I startle and look around between the two of them, eyes wide. Timmy meets my eyes and laughs, his hand brushing up against my cheek.

"He's just distracted," Timmy says, turning back with the cutest eye roll I've ever seen.

"Yeah, he spaces out sometimes."

"Yes! He does! Like he gets this look and is just gone," Timmy says, leaning forward.

"He's spacey," Vik shrugs with a laugh.

"Hey!"

"It's just teasing, baby," Timmy mumbles, turning back to kiss my cheek quickly before returning his attention to my brother, leaving me dazed and breathless. "Wait so tell me stories, what was he like when you guys were little?" If I wasn't still reeling from his pet name, I might object.

"Uh… well he was kind of a dick."

"Oh god, really?"

"Yeah, he's got this false bravado thing," Vik shrugs. Timmy's hair is curled around his ears, his freckles showing in this light. Someone somewhere was wishing for eyelashes like his, for his skin. The lines of his jaw and cheekbones are mesmerizing, no amount of staring takes away from their beauty. His laugh is sexy as hell, his voice so cute when he gets excited, his eyes sparkling when he turns to smile brightly at me. His hand lingers down on my leg for a moment before folding back into his lap and I shouldn't stare but I do because his body is so different from mine.

"Aw, see. He's doing it again."

"I think it's cute."

"Yeah, well, you're also dating him so."

"Hmm?" I mumble, tearing my eyes from Timmy to look at Viktor.

"Oh my god. Okay, this is definitely my cue," Vik laughs, standing up. "Hey, it was really nice to finally talk to you."

"Yeah, you too. And um, you know. Thank you," Timmy says as he stands up too, hand lingering on my shoulder as I stay seated. "His life is kind of... It's shaking right now and I'm just really glad he's got you to help support him," Timmy adds.

"Well… he's my brother."

"Yeah, but still," Timmy smiles and nods. They hug briefly and Vik waves goodbye before heading into his room and shutting the door.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a secret. I think I'll tell you next chapter? Stay tuned, it'll be up before the weekend probably! Also i took the chapter count away because i keep going back and forth between 18 and 20 and until I know that, I don't want to stress yall out lol


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *screams* I LOVE THIS CHAPTER! I LOVE THIS CHAPTER!! enjoy it because it was so fucking fun to write. 
> 
> Read end notes for that surprise i promised. . .

"You good?" Timmy asks as he looks down at me, sitting to be closer. He faces me, one leg tucked up and resting against my ribs while the other loops over my knee.

"Yeah, really good." His mouth twists up again and he looks down as he pulls my arm over his tucked leg. It ends up resting on his thigh near his hip, my heart leaping in my chest suddenly as he trails a finger over the back of my hand. "That went better than I hoped."

"Yeah, you were quiet, though," Timmy says, leaning his head against the couch and staring at me.

"I was, what did you say? Distracted."

"Oh?" Timmy perks up, smirking. "By what, may I ask?"

"You know," I shrug, sensing his playful mood. "Some freckles, green eyes…" He hums and laughs breathlessly while shifting his bent leg so it lays flat on the couch to give him some leverage to lean up and kiss me, the leg looped over mine tightening as he rises up. We kiss for a moment before he settles on my leg, the position awkward but better than before. He leans back and stares at me a moment, shifting again so his ass is on the couch but thigh is practically resting entirely on my own. He places his hands on my throat, fingertips along my jaw. "You called me baby twice today," I whisper in the silence.

"I did… is that okay?" he asks, eyes falling on my lips. "It slipped out."

"It's cute," I mumble, willing him forward for a kiss, which he seems to understand and comply with wordlessly. "I like how affectionate you are," I whisper against his lips, a tiny confession for his openness.

"Yeah?"

I nod and press our lips back together. "It's warm."

" _Warm_?" he laughs, pulling away to grip at my hair.

"Yeah. Makes me feel warm. Like…" My eyes wander, searching for a comparison. He waits patiently, smiling at me as his fingers toy with my hair. I close my eyes and lean into the touch, sensation crashing over me. It could probably lull me to sleep, the feeling of his fingers in my hair. It's gentle, warming, comforting. I lift a hand and touch his arm, gesturing towards my hair. "Like that, right now. It's like finding a sunny spot or something in spring, it's just warm."

"Are you comparing me to the sun right now?" Timmy asks quietly, his hands still moving through my strands.

"Yeah," I nod, trying to hold my own under his gaze. "I guess so."

"You are…so…" His forehead pinches up and he takes a deep breath. Those little wrinkles are so fucking cute, but not knowing what's causing them worries me. My fingers smooth over them until his lips tilt upwards and they disappear, his skin smoothing under my fingertips. "How are you this perfect?" _Perfect?!_ My eyes widen. I don’t deserve this attention from him, his admiration. "I see you, don't tell me you're not. You don't see yourself like I do," he says suddenly, pointing a finger at me. God, even his scolding is cute. My face shifts into a small smile as my eyes drop to avoid those green eyes challenging me. I hold out one of my hands, palm up, on my thigh and wait for him to take it. His fingers are slimmer than mine, his hands a little softer, wrist small enough that I can wrap my fingers around it. I smooth my hand over his, covering it whole, and turn it over so his palm presses against my thigh; now I can trace lines on the back of his hand, little freckles, a scar. "See, this is just proving my point," he whispers after a minute. I glance up, his eyes reducing me to a melting puddle. "God, I am the luckiest…" His smiling eyes warm me up as his words die out between us.

"If anyone's lucky in this equation, it's _me."_ He rolls his eyes with a brilliant smile, his head rolling with the motion and landing on my shoulder, his hands following to lift him against me, his lips ghosting mine. "This is the part where you kiss me," I breathe. His air is my air, warm in my mouth, lungs, being breathed into me as much as I'm breathing it in.

"I know, I'm just waiting."

"For what?"

"For the moment."

"And you call _me_ a romantic—"

"Shh," he smiles, lips still almost touching mine.

My body can't withstand this. He's so fucking close! How is he not kissing me right now?

One of his hands slips off my shoulder to my bicep, runs down it slowly until his fingers find my hand. Carefully, he drags it over his leg, resting it back against his hip as we both shift so it's comfortable, his lips staying half an inch away.  My lungs cease to function when his hand begins its trail back up to my shoulder, the touch barely registering over my sweater as it drags down my chest. "What exactly," I grumble, turn my head to clear my throat of its dryness, try to stop staring at his lips when I turn back. "Are we um… waiting for? Exactly?" My stomach clenches when his hand rests at the bottom of my ribs, my eyes glazing over as it lifts to settle against my heart. He shrugs, eyes glued to my face. "Tim," I breathe, getting dizzy, eyes slipping shut. I'm drowning but if he keeps moves his hand again I just might be saved.

"I have to tell you something."

"Hmm?"

"Open your eyes."  He's staring at me when I do, watching carefully. I swallow the dryness I still feel in my throat and fight the urge to adjust myself with him sitting so close. I'm a lost fucking cause, though—he'll notice his affect soon, I'm sure. "Armie… I—" I faintly hear a door open, followed quickly by coughing, Timmy red suddenly and leaning away from me.

"Woah! Shit! Sorry! Sorry! Leaving!" I turn sharply at the sound of Vik tearing through the suite to get to the door. "Ignore me! Sorry!"

I stare at the door after it shuts, my nerves completely wrecked. Timmy starts laughing and I can't help but groan loudly, head falling back on the couch. "Oh my _god_ ," I complain. He laughs so hard (probably just at me, at this point) that he nearly doubles over before sitting back up and leaning against my chest. "Stop it! Fuck, I can't believe his timing," I shake my head, covering my face. My brother, everyone. Fucking boner killer.

"He's a _what?"_ Ohhhhh shit—

"I said that out loud…"

"Oh my god, wait were you really that hard?" Timmy giggles, shifting to stare at my crotch which I promptly cover from his view with my hands, coughing while he's overcome with a whole new fit of laughter. "Sorry, sorry. Jesus, I didn't realize that would work for you." I stare at him blankly for a second, flabbergasted, before gesturing between us.

"You were fucking, _teasing_ me! Of fucking course it was working, what did you think was happening?" He shrugs like he doesn't know and I'm laughing now, too.

"I was giving us a moment! Slowing time down! I thought I was being romantic!"

" _You_ ," I throw my head back and sigh. "Oh my god. If that's you being romantic I'm screwed." He bites his lip and giggles again, the sound unfairly adorable. "You knew _exactly_ what you were doing."

"I didn't realize you'd get hard so fast."

"Oh? So fast, huh? So it was the goal?"

"I mean…not that fast."

"Jesus, Tim. And if I do it to you, you won't get hard that fast?" I challenge, sitting up, blushing like crazy at him calling me out but enjoying this too much to care. His eyes shine for a second before they widen as he must realize where I'm going with this.

"Armie—" I have him pinned in a second, hand dragging his sweater up to his armpits so I can run my hand over the thin cotton of my shirt on chest and ribs. "Okay, okay!"

"Nope, you were _torturing_ me."

"Hey! I had a point though! Are you really going to do this right now?" he asks, voice dropping. He's trying not to smile and it's fucking hot.

"Maybe?" He narrows his eyes for a few seconds before he relaxes, his body sinking into the couch.

"Fine."

"I…what?"

"Go ahead," he smirks. "You're so confident, the moment's ruined anyway. So go ahead. Turn me on if you're so determined." I blink at him, body heating up immediately. I look down at him and take a shaky breath. He's giving me permission to touch him, and I'm not exactly sure where to start. He's patient, laying still under me until I shift, moving his legs so I'm sitting between them. I wonder if I'm having a heart attack, it kind of feels like it when I lean over him and hold his hands to the couch, our fingers lacing together, my forearms pinning his as I lower to hover, his eyes blinking up at me in anticipation. "How is this already working and you're barely even touching me?" he breathes.

"Wait really?"

"I mean. Yeah kind of," he laughs, but it's deeper and sounds completely different from what I'm used to hearing from him. He shivers and clenches his eyes shut. "God, this is embarrassing." He shifts and I know he's being honest because he wouldn't get so squirmy otherwise. It's actually kind of empowering, I kind of like it.

"No, it's actually really hot."

"Ah, you're voice does not help."

"You're getting turned on from my _voice?"_ I huff out a laugh and bite my lip hard. This is insane, I never want him to leave. When am I ever going to find another person that makes me feel this good about myself?

"I'm getting turned on because you're pinning me to a fucking couch, Armie," he huffs. "Okay, new plan. Either you touch me or you get off me."

I can't help but laugh and lean down to kiss his neck, dick twitching at the sound he makes. He tugs at my hands but not hard enough to dislodge them. I can tell he wants to touch me, though, and I'd be lying if I said I didn't also want that, so I release him and move an arm to brace my weight while the other shifts so I can touch his face. His hands knot into my hair and tug, my breath shuddering out quickly. "You um. You said that, we should be going slow," I mumble, lips pressing against his skin.

"I know what I said."

"Okay, so… to clarify—"

"Just don't fuck me," he whispers.

"Right," I nod, turning red as a fucking tomato when his words settle in my dick. I could touch, then. I test his decision and lower my body more fully, gasping when our hips press together and then again when he promptly grinds up. My hand is on his stomach, on his thigh to squeeze, his hip, all the while his hands moving to yank at my sweater. I have to lean back on my knees to pull it off, at which point he tells me to slow down and give him a minute. I clench my jaw and stare at him, watching his body catch up in breathing.

"Can we go to your room?" he asks, knuckles white as they grip the sweater around his upper chest. I have no idea when Vik will return, so I reach out to help pull him up, the two of us walking to safety in silence, hand in hand. My heart starts racing even faster than before and I worry about nerves more than I thought I would. I always thought that I'd be good at this, that if I wanted this enough then it would kill nerves and focus my mind. But now he's here and he's wearing my shirt and holding my hand and I didn't think it would mean this much.

He leans against the wall when we enter my room, the door clicking shut behind me. We stand close, his eyes heavy on mine as he drops my hand and touches my abs instead, pinching the fabric of his own shirt between his fingers. I wait for him to pull me closer but he never does, just stands there holding onto me lightly. "We don't have to—"

"I know," he nods. I step towards him, chest tight, hands lifting to his face to tilt it up so I can kiss him. It's slow, but it's what we need. He relaxes against me and I realize I'd been bracing myself for rejection, the feeling easing away with me when his hands snake under the hem of his sweater and slips it off. "Slow," he breathes, lips on mine. I nod and let my hands wander down to the shirt of mine he took, pulling it over his head. His skin is light, little freckles scattered around, goosebumps forming on his shoulders and chest. I trace them away with my fingers, his own gripping my shirt tightly and yanking it up. Taking the hint, I allow him to pull it off me and shudder when he starts exploring my body. This give and take is too much for my lungs and I have to break away from a kiss just to breathe enough so I don't pass out. "Slow."

"Slow," I nod with a deep breath. It only takes a moment before my hands drop to grab his ass, a moan leaving my lips when he scrapes down my back at the contact. When we kiss now, it feels different than any other time, feels more honest and a hell of a lot more charged. I know now that I'll never feel this again, but I don't think I mind. I like that I've found him, that I have this moment with him even if we aren't allowed more. He reacts to me like he was made to, my body doing the same with his when he tugs at the beltloops on my pants to keep me close, or smooths my hair after gripping it, the care he shows me telling me more than any words ever could.

I know when he's got my pants around my ankles that I'm in love with him, that I'll never love another person like I love him. I know when he presses his hands against the wall behind his body and smirks as I fumble with his zipper that no one else would ever make me feel this light and heavy in this intoxicating way. His teasing when he sees my Christmas tree boxers is a reminder of his ability to put me at ease, his gasp when I grind my body against his a promise, his breathless laughter in my ear when I tell him I don't know if I can stay standing an acceptance of who I am, his fingers on my jaw and kind eyes when I lean over him on the bed a silent exchange of love that I feel deep in my bones.

"Earlier, before this started—"

"Tim. Talking? _Now_?" I mumble, head dropping to rest on his shoulder, willing my hips to stop pressing against his so I can think.

"I have to say this," he insists, gripping my arms. "Before, you know. I have to say it before anything else happens so you know I mean it and I'm not just saying it because of like afterglow or whatever." I stare at him and shift so our thinly covered dicks no longer touch, limiting the temptation to strip us bare and finish the job.

"Okay," I nod, breathing deeply, taking a moment to recover just a little for whatever he needs to say. He surprises me, loops a leg around me and flips us over, my back hitting the bed with a _humph_.

Something changes with him, the light from my lamp making his skin glow, his eyes more golden than green. He touches my face, his fingers so light on my skin as his hand turns over so his knuckles brush against my cheek. "Armie," he whispers, leaning down to kiss my chest, then my collarbone, my neck. I feel my eyes slipping shut, my body instinctively shifting to seek friction from him. He nuzzles against my neck and I remember earlier, how he said he was trying to tell me something. He's being his version of romantic, I realize, head swimming with the thought. I open my eyes and force myself to stop being so goddamn horny for five seconds so he can say what it is he wants, my hand lifting to stroke his cheek when he moves to look at me. He takes a deep breath, lips curling up, his eyes so beautiful. "I love you. I'm in love with you."

The air whooshes out of me in a second.

I'd been justifying myself for so many years, compromising my heart for the sake of others, denying basic and innocent desires since I was old enough to understand what was expected of me. For me, my childhood was spent hiding my eyes and praying at night when the boy sitting next to me let me borrow his pencil, or picked me for a group project, talked to me at lunch. It was spent making valentines for girls and convincing myself that the ache of longing for something else was what everyone felt.  More than once, I'd kissed girls and told myself that this is how it is supposed to feel, that maybe I was even starting to fall for them. That everyone had blown this love thing out of proportion. Maybe it just wouldn't happen for me, I'd thought. Maybe it really was just for the books and the songs, that the reason they said _hopeless_ romantic instead of _hopeful_ was because it was all a pipe dream anyway.

And I thought I would grow up one day and give up on it all, stop believing, become a cynic. I was prepared for that future where I'd settle into a life and roll my eyes whenever someone said "true love" and play along and do what was expected because what else is there in life but to check the boxes and make the most of it?

But when I saw him—

He was this perfect spec in this shitty world and when he looked at me, I didn't feel like cynicism was an option because for the first time in my entire life, my heart started making sense. When he would smile at me, his lips would turn up into brilliant smiles and I found myself mimicking him, wanting to feel as much and as freely as he did, soaking in the seconds he gave me. His laugh was different around me and I had never heard someone laugh so openly and unafraid, had never felt laughter that wasn't my own in my own chest rumbling around with my heart. And I thought I understood that the way he made me feel was love, that this is love, the way people describe feeling like your lost and found, like you breathe with that person only, I thought I understood when he kissed me and told me I was okay, that there was nothing wrong with me, when he smiled at me and teased me and fell asleep in my arms and woke up and kissed me without caring that our breath was bad because waiting was incomprehensible.

But he says it, tells me he loves me, and I didn't know at all. Because his eyes are shining and he's soothing his thumb over my cheekbone and saying it again, and again, and tears are falling out of my eyes because he looks so lovely and his voice is more comforting than anything I've ever experienced. And I love him, so much more than I did even five minutes ago.

I understand now, I wish I could tell him. I understand not wanting to get too attached. Because the very thought of him leaving me now—I can't even think about it. It's already too late for me. 

"I love you, too," I whisper, then again, _"I love you, too_ ," louder, because I mean it, because I don't want him to think I'm whispering this love. I'm saying it, because it matters, because he showed me _I_ matter, this matters, and we matter.

And then, when he kisses my cheek and pulls me closer to him, his hands gripping the material of my boxers, I show him I understand.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY. So here's the deal. I never ever anticipated this story becoming what it is now, but I am so grateful that the inspiration has been so strong for me with this. When I wrote this chapter, my mind raced ahead of me and I started writing... and writing... and writing... but not in this timeline. 
> 
> I know I've been iffy on the chapter count with you guys lately-- well that's because I always knew this story was bigger than a chapter count could show. So here we go, you guys. The chapter count is accurate, but so is the series status. Hammer Lodge WILL have a sequel. 
> 
> Thank you all for your love and support! I'm so excited to continue this story with all of you!


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YOU GUYS!!! I love all of you so much. The comments on the last chapter still have me breathless days later. Thank you thank you thank you for the love and support. ALSO! cumpeachx on tumblr made an INCREDIBLE moodboard for this fic! I'll link it after the chapter :)

I stare up at the ceiling, heart still racing. I can hear the blood rushing through my body, the sound distracting and exhausting. His head is on my chest and I try to focus on the feel of his spine under my fingers as I trace lines over his back instead of the pit in my stomach at the thought of him leaving me now.

"You have a freckle here," he whispers, his finger pressing against a spot on my stomach. "It's faint." I can feel his hair tickling my chest and shoulder as he moves to look at me before settling back down. "Are you okay?"

"No," I whisper, too vulnerable at this point to lie. He had wrapped his hand around me and made me come seconds after I did the same with him, only moments ago. I could still feel his fingers around me, his leg bracketing mine on the bed, his lips at my throat. I can close my eyes and relieve the feeling of digging my fingers into his sides, his moan when I bit his shoulder, how he begged me not to stop, his fingers shaking as he coated me in his own release and sparked my own, his face still twisted up in pleasure that I had created in him, learned how to _give_ with him, my lungs so tight that I don’t think I really breathed at all until we were both panting on the bed and spent. He had taken one of my shirts and cleaned us, laid down, and hummed, traced my body with his fingertips.

And I had one more night with him. And I could see him walking away and I could see him calling me on the phone and it not being the same because I wouldn't see him, and I can see him coming back or me going there and him letting us take each other inside completely and I can see it ruining me because I already feel ruined, I already feel like nothing will ever be like this ever again and what if we can't make it work and I'm just broken forever because I never recover from how much I love him?

"Oh god," his voice is so quiet, scared. "Is it what we did?"

"No _, no_."

He kisses my chest before rising up on his knees to look at me. "Talk to me." I shake my head and cover my eyes with my hands to stop myself from crying. For a moment, I think he might pull my hands away to stop me from hiding, but he just rubs my arms and kisses my hands instead. "If you regret it you can tell me."

"I don't regret any of this," I tell him, peaking through my fingers. He smiles a little and tugs at my hands so they fall onto the bed near my head. "Timmy…" I feel tears sting at my eyes and grown, frustrated.

"It's that I'm leaving, right?" I clench my eyes shut and nod, my hands reaching out for him. He settles back on me, his body half draped over mine and his face nuzzled in the crook of my neck. "We'll figure it out."

"You're going to walk away with my heart."

"You'll be left with mine."

"I can't lose you," I whisper, pulling him tight against me, my lips turning to brush against his head.

"You're not going to. Armie. This can wait—can we _please_ talk about this tomorrow night?" I sniffle and nod, wondering if I'd really be able to think of anything else. He must sense this hesitation because he kisses my neck and moves so he has access to more of me. It's a distraction, but I know it's necessary to keep us upright. I can almost hear him telling me to stop worrying, to enjoy this and make the most of what we _do_ have.

I flip him onto his back and lay my weight over him, my arms tucking under his shoulders as he wraps his arms around me, my face pressed against his neck where I can breathe him in. "I love you," I whisper between kisses.

"I love you, too." His voices gets distant when he's distracted by me, I've learned. Kind of airy. I'm pretty sure it'll be the voice I hear in my dreams when he appears, all bright smiles and affectionate hugs.

We lay together for awhile, both settling against each other and soaking up some sort of comfort we don't need to voice. He asks me about my childhood and toys with my hair while I talk, his breathing even under me. He says I'd have cute kids and turns red, says he never wants tomorrow to come, says he wishes he'd met me when we were children so I'd have been there for it all.

His body pressing against mine is intoxicating, but it's also incredibly warm; I have to roll off him eventually for relief. "You're a heater," he teases. The blankets get tangled around us and it makes him laugh, his head leaning down to bump against my chest before he attempts to settle back down onto the bed without giving us fevers. My leg is draped over his, our arms intertwined so he holds my hand against his chest. I lay on my stomach, him on his back, and I selfishly want him to stay like that so I can stare at his bare torso some more.

"That's cute," he whispers after we get settled comfortably. I watch him, try to decipher what it is he's looking at. His foot rubs against my calf and he smiles fondly, reaching out to touch my shoulder.

"Oh, that," I laugh, shifting on the bed. His foot tickles, shivers running up my leg. His grin gets wider and he lifts himself to hover over my back, his lips covering the birthmark with a kiss. I feel myself smile at his tenderness, then laugh when he abruptly bites the skin there and falls back onto the bed with a smirk. His fingers twist back into place with mine and he holds them on his chest with a sigh, his lip catching between his teeth a second before he abandons holding my hand for simply playing with my fingers.

I know instantly that he's going to change so much.

He's so playful and sure of himself, I know that he's going to grow into this incredible person, so confident and tender, but this playful side of him will grow too. I want to be there to see it, to see him turn these little touches into something with so much purpose that whoever's lucky enough to be on the receiving end won't be able to breathe right when he so much as glances up. I want it to be me, I want to be there, I want to be every important moment of his life.

He presses my hand flat against his chest and uses a finger to trace it. A part of me wants to stay here forever, silent and content while he traces my handprint over his heart. Another part of me wants to talk, to not waste this time, to learn more about him and remember him. His eyes flutter and meet mine, his smile slow and soft, and it make my heart skip because what I really want more than anything is him, just him. For as much time as I can have him, I want him to be by my side and holding my hand and making me feel like there's more to this life than I was told.

My phone buzzes after awhile with a text from Vik warning me that he was coming home. I chuckled and showed Timmy, smiled when he rolled his eyes and climbed on top of me. His hair was in his face, my hands on the back of his thighs as he shuddered above me, his hot breath hitting my ear when he leaned down and whispered, "Then be fast or be quiet," and kissed down my chest. It felt different this time with his mouth, his laughter when I couldn't stop moaning, his teasing, his nails in my thighs to keep me still. How he made me wait, kissed me and rubbed himself against me until I was nearly in tears with a breathless _please_ that made him giggle and squirm. He put my hands in his hair and told me to pull when he went down, my mind short-circuited and I honestly think I may have blacked out because the next thing I remember is him rubbing my thighs and telling me practice breathing with a smirk because apparently, I wasn't doing enough of it—all of this before he let me come.

His face rested against my hip as a breathless laugh fell from his lips, hitting me as I softened. "Let me," I whisper, still catching my breath as I reach for his hair to try pulling him up.

"Um," he laughs, looking up at me. "Yeah, that's… not a problem." The room feels warm and cozy, the bedsheets sticking a little with sweat as his words seeped into me. He lets out a deep sigh and shifts so he can lean over me and grab the shirt we'd used earlier. "You should change your sheets, though," he whispers, fighting a smirk, _failing_ to hide his blush, as he tosses it to the side and settles against my side. I can only laugh, my heart leaping with the confirmation that this was far from one sided attraction, that even doing this to each other could be as good as getting.

We don't start dozing off for another half an hour, too caught up in the high of each other. When we do, he's sprawled out on my chest in the middle of a story about his theatre class, his voice soothing me to sleep. Years from now I'll remember this, I think. Hopefully he's still at my side, on my chest, but this memory will be strong.

I wake up before him, sweating for all the contact we've got, and feel terrible for the instinct to push him off for some air. I opt for the blanket instead, carefully shucking it off our bodies, and find myself blushing when I see his ass, our naked bodies barely covering each other. While I was sweating with him on top of me, he seemed to be comfortable, shivering now without the blanket. "Armie," he whines, his eyes staying closed as he grips at my waist and tries to get closer. "Cold."

"Sorry, sorry," I whisper, turning us so I can spoon him, pulling the blanket back over us, wrapping him up before grabbing some boxers and a shirt to put on, hoping some fabric might stop me from overheating from skin-to-skin contact, something I'm not at all used to. He groans when I slip back under the blankets, grabs my shirt and makes the cutest fucking sound I've ever heard.

" _Armie_." He sounds so mopey and sad, my heart aching instantly. "Take it off," he asks, rolling onto his stomach with another whiney grumble. I can't help it, he's _so_ fucking cute. I press my lips against his spine and cave, take the shirt back off, and pull him closer so his back meets my now bare chest. "Hmm, better," he sighs, stretching against my body before pulling me closer. I find the heat isn't so bad when the blanket mostly covers just him, and the little sounds he makes sometimes in his sleep, pulling me closer with tiny smiles, makes it worth it.

A few hours later, the cold seeps into the room and I have to tug the covers back over me, fight his whiney objections with a kiss, and cover us. He rubs my arm when I shiver under the warm blanket and teases me, half asleep but completely Timmy. His body is the best sleeping aid I've ever known, the comfort of holding him like this letting sleep overtake me before I can even come up with a comeback.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> moodboard: lookingforatardis.tumblr.com/post/182229603587/hammer-lodge-by-lookingforatardis-cumpeachx-i


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love all of you, thank you so much for the unbelievably kind and wonderful comments you've all been leaving. They genuinely brighten my day so much and I feel so thankful to all of you for reading and caring this deeply about this story! Enjoy <3

We wake up with my alarm clock, set a little later than normal since we get an extra hour today. Timmy immediately turns in my arms and hugs around my neck to keep me from getting up, and I have to drag him half across the bed just to turn the alarm off before I can settle back down and hold him to my chest.

His kisses are lazy in the morning, all sighs and scooting closer, fingers on skin and eyes consistently closed. My weight is on him because he won't let me move, his arms looped around my shoulders so my face is pressed against his neck. It would appear this is what he wants, because every time I shift, he whines and pulls me back. If I'm being honest, it's really fucking cute. He must not be a morning person, I guess. I could be, if this is what mornings looked like. I'd be a morning person.

"I have to get up soon," I whisper, his arms tightening.

"No."

It goes on like this for awhile, until I actually _do_ have to get up and he mopes as I untangle him from my body. I go to take a shower and half hope that he'll join, try to contain my disappointment when he doesn't. He's in a pair of my boxers and one of my hoodies when I come back in from the bathroom, casually flipping through one of my books I had tossed on a bedside table. Lingering in the doorway, I watch his knee bounce and fingers tap against the pages a few times before he notices me and smiles.

"So you tell me you have to go but then you show up like that, huh? How is this fair?" He stands up and walks towards me, his hands resting on my chest when we meet in the middle of the room.

"I can't start this," I warn him, noting the way his hands gather the loose droplets of water on my body in their descent. "Tim."

"Ugh, you're no fun. Can't you quit?" he asks, smirking only slightly, leaning in to kiss away a drop of water on my shoulder.

"Hmm, hey Dad, sorry I'm gonna have to quit, my boyfriend is needy," I muse, blushing as his eyebrows raise. It feels so weird to be this comfortable with another person, but I also love it so much, want it to never end.

"I guess that wouldn't go over well," he mumbles, lips catching the water falling from my hair onto my neck. Reluctantly, I sigh and let my hands loop around his waist as he continues to kiss my neck, then my lips.

"You're going to make me late," I mumble, hands taking fistfuls of his, well, _my_ hoodie.

"You're the one who walked out here in nothing but a towel." I laugh and tickle his sides to get him to release me so I can walk over to grab some clothes, but he follows and kisses my back, slowing my movements and determination significantly.

And maybe I should have seen it coming, but I still gasp when he tugs the towel down and reaches for the boxers in my hand, gets on the floor, and looks up at me to step into them. "You're trying to kill me."

"I'm helping."

"You are _not_ helping."

He smiles sweetly and picks my feet up one at a time to put the boxers on. I don't breathe at all as he slides them up, slowly standing. I don't breathe at all until he kisses me lightly, whispers _I thought we covered the whole needing to breathe thing_ , and walks away from me.

I get dressed, but barely, frustrated and having to adjust myself every other minute. He watches me closely, never far away, his hands helping with buttons and zippers and making it impossible to do anything but want him. It's the cruelest he's ever been.

When I leave, he kisses me against the door and nuzzles his face against my neck. He tells me he loves me and I say it back and wonder how I got so goddamn lucky.

 

He appears not long after I do downstairs, his family meeting up before breakfast. Marc and Nicole smile at me, but I find it difficult to meet Marc's eyes. Timmy's abandoned my hoodie, it seems, but I get lost in my mind for 20 minutes wondering if he's still got the boxers on. Vik slaps me to pull me out of it and asks if I'm okay, to which I nod and he laughs. "Something on your mind?" he asks. I look at him and roll my eyes, fighting a smile.

"Shut up."

"I heard you guys laughing at some point."

"Oh my _god_ , Vik," I cover my face, thoroughly embarrassed.

"I had headphones, I just took them off to go to the bathroom, I didn't hear anything else, don't fucking worry. But it was kind of…nice? Knowing you're happy, you know?"

"Thanks, man," I nod. He gets pulled away to do some lessons outside, but I can't shake his words. I think about them a lot, actually. Did I not normally look happy? Was Timmy better, more necessary, than even I had realized?

Timmy stops by before they head outside, his hands tucked safely in his designer jeans. "Hey, we're gonna go change and grab our stuff," he says. I made sure to start doing some rounds of the place so it looked less weird that I'd stop and talk to a guest. Dad isn't around right now anyway, but I can't not be cautious.

"Okay, thanks for letting me know," I nod.

"I'm gonna wear that hoodie if that's okay? It's really cozy."

I feel my face breaking into a smile so big that I look around to make sure it's allowed before looking back at him. "That's fine… are you um. Still wearing my uh—"

"Boxers?" he smirks. I nod. "How long have you been thinking about that?"

"Since I saw that you'd put them on."

"That's a long time to think about what's under my jeans," he muses, stepping closer.

"Fuck you," I laugh, running a hand through my hair, heart racing away from me again.

"I like wearing your stuff," he whispers, kicking my foot with his own.

"I like you wearing my stuff."

"Good," he smiles, glancing up at me. "I'll see you later, okay? Maybe if you have an afternoon break?"

"Yeah, come say hi when you come back from skiing."

"Sure that's okay?"

"It'll be fine," I shrug. "I want to see you, so I'll make sure it's fine." He nods at me and bites his lip, kicks my foot again.

"I wish I could kiss you," he whispers. "Just imagine I kissed you goodbye, okay?"

"Okay," I blush, folding my arms over my chest. "Love you."

"Love you," he smiles, the words we share barely breathed out into the air. I can't let him go without saying it though, something in my chest forced me to make sure he was reminded.

I don't see him for hours, not until I've already eaten lunch. He walks into the lodge and makes eye contact with me through the crowd, then walks over to the bathrooms. I watch him disappear before turning to check in with the guy working the front desk with me and tell him I'll be back in a minute, have to run to the bathroom real quick. He nods and waves me off.

He's waiting for me, jacket open and exposing my sweater underneath, a smile on his lips. "Hey."

"Hi, did you have fun?" He nods at me and reaches out so I'll go to him. His face is freezing, and while I have shivers running all over my body, I suck it up to warm his cheeks with my hands, his lips with my own. He pulls me towards the largest stall and kisses me again when we're out of sight, my hands wrapping around his waist under the jacket. "I only have a few minutes," I tell him. He answers with a kiss against my neck that I worry about leaving a mark, his hands slipping into my back pockets. " _Timmy_ , be nice, _please_." His head rests against my shoulder with a sigh at that, his hands staying firmly in place on my ass, though.

"How are you? I just realized I didn't ask at all today."

"I'm good," I assure him.

"No I just mean, you know. You came out to people yesterday and then we you know…is this okay, are you feeling okay with everything? It's fast."

"I know it's fast," I mumble, kissing his forehead. "I'm a little overwhelmed, I won't lie. But I think I needed it to be fast. That way I can't convince myself that the risks are too big, or it's not worth it or something."

"Do you think you would convince yourself I'm not worth the risk if we had more time?" I can hear the twinge of sadness in his voice and want to take it away, but I'm not sure I really can.

"Yes, but not because of you."

"Can you explain?"

"Timmy, do you remember when we first talked, like really talked? And I couldn't handle it because—"

"I complimented you."

"Yeah… I shut down, Timmy. I shut down when there's a guy who even looks at me. I can't do it, it makes me anxious and I start feeling all this crazy pressure to not look back or something. But you felt a little safer because I knew you would leave and if I made a fool of myself, at least it wasn't permanent." He nods slowly and I feel like shit for having to tell him any of this. "But that was before. I tried to put up this wall with you too at first but then…"

"I wouldn't let you," Timmy smiles, his hands moving to toy with the hair at the back of my neck.

"Yeah, you wouldn't let me. And thank god for that, you know?" I watch him pull his lip between his teeth to control his growing grin, the gesture contagious as I find myself mirroring him. He pulls himself up closer to my body and kisses me, his hands pulling my hair tightly. I gasp, a little surprised at the feeling, at him doing it without warning, but lean in nevertheless. It feels good, I can't deny that. When he relaxes his hands, I miss the tension and make a mental note to get him to do it later.

"I love you, Armie," he sighs against my lips, hands smoothing over my hair, down my shoulders and chest.

"I love you, too," I smile, leaning in to brush my lips against his jaw and pull him into a tight hug. "I have to go back out there, but I can come find you right after dinner?"

"Can I stay with you again?"

"Yeah," I nod, pushing my nose against his neck to breath him in.

"Can we stay up all night?" I squeeze his waist a little tighter and nod against his shoulder instead of speaking, afraid that I'll say something that makes it impossible for us to pretend we don't have another night together after this.

I know I have to go, but walking away doesn't really seem like an option. His hands frame my face and he kisses me again, his nose brushing up against mine. "Okay," he sighs. I like that he knows what I'm thinking, that I don't have to say the words that hurt right now.

"Soon."

"Yeah," he nods, kissing me one last time. I pull him into one last hug before turning to leave, my hand lingering on his cheek for a moment too long. His eyes are so beautiful, I never want to look into anyone else's eyes ever again. "Go," he laughs, hands snaking down to shove at me, slap my ass. My laughter is as abrupt as his blush. "You'll get in trouble."

"Hmm, yeah it seems like it," I tease, reaching over to kiss him one last time.

"God, go or we'll never get out of here," he mumbles, one of his hands sneaking back up into my hair. I know he's right, but I'm still a little reluctant. He runs his thumb over my lip with a heavy sigh and nods at me, his expression growing serious suddenly.

"Love you," I whisper, wanting him to smile again. It works, but it's fleeting as he bumps his head against my shoulder and says it back.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sleepy timmy strikes again. i just love him okay haha


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it has been a hot minute. sorry yall! i have so much written to this story but i somehow decided it had been a good idea to skip writing ch17 and go onto 18...then 19..20... and so on. So this one took longer because I've been sidetracked! Thanks for the patience and all the love. Yall are amazing, so fucking amazing.

Dinner is the worst hour of the entire week.

It starts with Mom and Dad arguing over the design plans for their latest remodel dream for the lodge, their voices jumping back and forth and over the dinner table for far too long. It only settles when they start in on asking about college applications, and why haven’t I made a choice yet, did I even want to go to college or was I content wasting my potential? The grand fucking finale is when they attempt to talk about our love lives; apparently Vik was seen kissing some random girl a week ago and they’d only just now found out. This, for what it’s worth, is the one area I shine. They can’t really criticize me for not being in a relationship—or at least, not in one they’re aware of.

My heart spikes and I feel my leg shaking under the table until the conversation passes.

It lasts forever.

Vik and I begin walking to our rooms when it’s over, but he nudges my arm near the stairwell and smiles. “Just go,” he says. “I know you want to.”

I take the stairs two at a time and knock on his door before catching my breath. “Oh, hello. Timothée, it’s for you,” Nicole says, smiling as she steps away from the door. I nod and thank her while trying not to look too eager as I peak into his hotel suite.

He appears in a t-shirt and jeans, a sweater slipping up and over his shoulders as he walks. “Hey,” he smiles. “I’ll be back—”

“Be safe.” My eyes drop at the sound of Marc’s voice, making Timmy laugh softly. I can already hear him in my head, _stop worrying about it_.

“He means well,” he says when the door clicks shut.

“I know, I know. It’s just very different. It’s alright, though,” I tell him. Instead of answering, he grabs my hand tightly and leans against my shoulder, but only for a moment, ever aware of where we are. I take the comfort offered and linger in the residual feeling of warmth in my hand as we walk down the hall.

Once in the elevator, I stop him as he reaches out and press the top floor instead of my own. He looks at me with a small but growing smile and presses his forehead against my shoulder, his lips pressing lightly against me. “Are we going where I think we’re going?” The door opens and I lead him down with only a smile as a response, his giddy grin filling me with a kind of love I still find myself struggling to get used to.

We turn the corner and slip into the little hidden room where he promptly turns my body towards him and kisses me, arms looped around my waist, a startled chuckle escaping from my lips, trapped between us. “This is where we first kissed,” he whispers against me.

“I know,” I smile, pulling him back for another kiss, this time for a little longer. “This is our spot,” I tell him. “Every time I come here, I’m going to think about you.”

“Then you better come here a lot.” His voice is tender and warm, his nose pressing up against my neck. There’s something unbearable about it, about him holding onto me like this, all sturdy and comforting and fading. I hold him closer to stop him from slipping away as the snow falls outside.

We sit on the couch and stare out the window, his head resting against my shoulder, my hand covering his thigh as his own traces little circles over and over on my skin. “My real life isn’t like this,” he says after a while. _Real life._ I swallow and squeeze his leg so he’ll look up at me and see the question I can’t bring myself to voice. “You know what I mean,” he mumbles, leaning up to press his lips against mine for a brief moment before settling back down.

“I just mean, there’s no pause. This is like pausing life. You know when people say they wish they could stop time, well it feels like that when we’re just sitting together. Like we stopped time. Hit pause. As if we control it all just by being together.”

Gently, I rest my head against his and let out a deep breath before attempting to speak. His words have effectively taken my voice away from me. “My real life in New York is so fast, you know? Sometimes I can’t catch my breath. But you. You’re just…fuck it’s like you breathe for me.”

“You’re going to make me cry and it’s going to be embarrassing,” I manage, laughing softly. He turns to look at me with a shaky grin, his hands moving so they frame my face, holding me in his sights. I wait for him to kiss me but the moment doesn’t come; instead, he presses his forehead against mine and takes a deep breath, his thumbs swiping over my cheeks, nose brushing up against mine.

“I didn’t know it could feel like this.” His voice is so tiny that I’m sure it’s just a breath leaving him and dissolving in the inch between us.

“Me either,” I say, because it’s true, because I’m almost certain it doesn’t actually feel like this for anyone else, that we’ve found something that just doesn’t exist. An anomaly in the human experience, somehow trapped in us from the moment we were born, just waiting to emerge until we found each other.

The sound of laughter and the elevator chime from down the hall shakes us from our moment and pulls him away from me, albeit reluctantly. I take his hand without a word and bring us up to our feet, taking one last moment to kiss him here before I drop his hand and walk out.

 

 

 

By the time we get back to my room, I feel anxious and I can tell he’s getting clingy with the distance despite hardly any time passing. His fingers grip the edge of my shirt when the coast is clear or head bumps against my shoulder when we turn corners, his impatient sighs hitting me every time. Behind the closed door of my suite, his hands slip around my waist before the lock clicks, his body shivering against mine. For a moment, I just hold him, forgetting we shouldn’t just stand in the doorway. His curls brush up against my face and I can’t help but smile because he smells like me, just a little, just enough to make me feel like we’re a part of each other. Not just now, but later. In the _after_ to this time together.

“Why are you not kissing me?” he mumbles, shifting so his chin rests against my chest. I smirk and brush my lips over his, my heart leaping at the gentle touch.

“You could have kissed me, you know,” I tell him as I lift a hand to his face. He looks like he does in the morning, all soft and warm and overly affectionate, and I want nothing more than to live in this moment forever.

He presses his lips against mine and hums into me, his teeth gathering my lip up and tugging until my body responds and shivers against his, my fingers pressing harder into him without me consciously trying to. “Is your brother home?” he asks, lips trailing to my neck.

“Maybe?” He steps back with a shallow breath and nods before lifting a hand to my chest and pushing. I stumble back, but he keeps pushing and when I raise my eyebrows at him, he just smiles and lifts the other hand to turn me around and direct me towards my room.

I think the pushing will stop when we get in my room, but he kicks the door shut with a breathless laugh when I look back in surprise and nudges me towards the bed until I roll my eyes and sit down. There’s heat in his eyes that warms me from the inside out but there’s also a lightness that I love so much. His hands slip into my hair and tug playfully, a little smirk on his lips that intoxicates me almost as much as his fingers. My body is thrumming with energy, so I let my hands reach out to his thighs, slipping around them to pull him a little closer. He sighs, his entire body loosening up at my touch, filling me with some cross between pride and excitement at my effect. There’s only a moment of tension before he pushes against my shoulders and says, “Scoot back,” his hands running through his hair as he kicks off his shoes and reaches for my own as I move onto the bed, tossing them across the room with a flushed smile.

“Timmy,” I say when he just stares at me. “Come on,” I laugh, reaching out for him until he gets up on the bed and scoots over to me his legs bracketing mine as he smiles down at me, his hands resting on his thighs as he refuses to really settle. “What are you doing?”

“I’m admiring the view,” he smirks, a hand moving to tease his fingers over my abs, his eyes on mine as my muscles clench up. He drops down suddenly, his arms snaking up around my head as he breathes deeply, his body comfortably covering mine, his face against my neck. I can practically feel him melting into me with every breath, his fingers delicate against my hair with nothing but the sound of the heater and our hearts filling the room. He shifts back momentarily to strip his torso down to just his thin tshirt before falling back on me with a _humph_ , knocking the wind out of me as my arms slip back around his waist. He’s so warm like this, the little strip of skin along his lower back heated when I skim my fingers along the line, his body reacting against mine with a series of shivers that turn contagious.

His lips are on mine, his hips pressing down, his chest rising and falling so violently I fear he may be in pain from his heartbeat. My hands slip around to give us space, lingering along his neck and collarbone to keep him at bay. “Breathe,” I mumble, eyes opening enough to see his are clenched closed, his head slowly nodding in response. Time slows as I watch him, his lip quivering as he gulps down air into his lungs. “You have to breathe _out_ , Timmy,” I whisper, fingers slipping into his hair to pull him back down on me to rest, frowning when I feel him grip at the sides of my waist with his hands.

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” he mumbles. “Promise.” But he still hasn’t moved and I feel dizzy and the smell of his aftershave mixing with my own does something to my ability to do anything but hold him closer and rub his back. “I love you,” I hear, his voice so soft I barely make out the words in the quiet hum of the room. I start to worry he’s having anxiety over our assumed and somewhat rushed intimacy—he was always so put together for me, maybe he’d hit a breaking point of his own. I breathe deeply and clutch against his shit to keep him grounded.

“We can just lay here,” I whisper. “I just want to be with you, it doesn’t matter if we do anything.”

“I want to, I want to though,” he groans. “I want you so fucking bad.” He sounds angry, his hand fisting up and pressing against my chest to emphasize the point as he lifts himself but evades my gaze, his eyes settling instead on my chest. “This isn’t because I don’t want to, it’s because I _do_.” He finally looks into my eyes.

 _Ah, there you are_. I push his hair back and smile at him.

“We could just kiss,” I tell him, hoping to ease his mind. “We can do whatever we want, okay? It can be slow.” He nods and lowers his body to kiss me again, the tingle on my lips enough to make me dizzy again as he grinds down against me when my tongue traces into his mouth.

I don’t know how my body knows to do this, only that it does, his shirt slipping over his shoulders only moments before he’s on his back, my own clothes suddenly on the floor, his lips open and against me, everywhere, his moans echoing in the room that until him had been a prison.

We have to stop, our hearts painful in our chests, lungs screaming, his legs around my waist as my face presses against his shoulder so I can catch my breath, completely overwhelmed at just the feel of his body against mine. I embarrass myself, my voice shattering and coarse when I try to ask him to shift, when I ask for the condoms, when he presses his own finger into himself and grips my arm with his other hand, the choked sound coming not from him but me as I struggle to breathe without dry sobbing over how hard I am, how hard _he_ is, how he tells me he loves me every time I ask if it feels okay-

His nails in my skin when I try to press in, our labored breathing just varied gasps until his fingers yank at my hair, his voice hot in my ear telling me to move.

It’s over too soon, my shaking hand covered in him between us when he latches his legs around me to stop me from shifting.

I didn’t know my entire body could turn to goosebumps in an instant until he shifts and moans, his head falling back. I slip out of him when his legs go slack and discard the condom before turning back to his body. He is a vision, his chest splotched red, the color continuing up his neck to his flushed cheeks, tongue darting out over his lips as he watches me, almost like he’s appraising me. Perhaps I looked the at him the same way, trying to decipher how it was for him. “Yeah?” he mumbles, the end of the word tilting like a question. I nod my head and laugh, my voice still not quite there as I move to cover his body with mine again.

“Yeah, fuck. I love you,” I whisper, voice still shaky.

“I love you more,” he hums, hands around my waist, at my shoulders, my ass with a laugh and a nip against my shoulder, a subtle reassurance of this that I didn’t know I needed. I think we lose time, his body against mine, the two of us breathing together, but I don’t mind. I’d happily lose all my time to be with him, just like this.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I DID NOT, I REPEAT, NOT WANT THEM TO FUCK YET. THEY HAVE MINDS OF THEIR GODDAMN OWN AND THEY JUST RUINED A DIFFERENT PLOT POINT BUT THEY WANTED TO FUCK SO WHATEVER *THROWS TABLE* in all honesty i really didn't mean for this to happen yet but it just, kept, going in this direction and who am i to stop them really


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wowowow i can't thank you guys enough for the incredible love and support for that last chapter!!! it's going to get angsty, yall. You knew it was going to happen sooner or later....

"So I'm going to be on Broadway one day," he says matter-of-factly, his voice quiet and humble and honest in a way that makes me ache. He is laying across my chest, his eyelashes tickling my skin each time he blinks, fingers stretched out on my body to plant himself as firmly over me as possible. Despite the time that’s passed, I still feel lightheaded, a little too warm, entirely overwhelmed by him and his skin, the memory I think might always linger of his warmth, his expression when he cried out, then the shift when he smiled, toyed with my fingers on his chest when we caught our breath.

He breathes against me now, his words echoing in the silence around us.

"Hmm?"

"You're going to be there, right? Opening night, whenever it is? For my first lead?" His hand contracts on me, fingers curling up as he tucks his body closer, a leg looping over one of my own. "Armie?"

"Yeah," I smile, kissing his head where it lays closest to my lips. "I'll be there."

"And…you said writing, right? For your first book deal, I'll be there." His voice is muddied by his face being pressed too close to me. I hold him tighter, my eyes closing when his sigh skates across my bare torso.

"Timmy—"

"And for your birthday, when's that? Maybe I can visit you. Or you could come see me, I don't know if you'd be able to but then I could show you the city and all the places I grew up and everything and we could hold hands there and no one would care."

"Tim…"

"I have to make plans or I'll get sad, okay? Let me make plans." His voice breaks, his head tilting towards my chest the instant it happens.

"Okay, okay," I nod, tearing up. He moves so he can stroke my cheek, his eyes rimmed red as he sniffles. It should be more comforting, this touch from him; instead it leaves a hole in my chest with a sense of finality I am not prepared to acknowledge.

"We'll make it work," he tells me.

"Yeah," I nod, wanting to believe him. We had to, there was no other option. I watch as the first tears form in his eyes and spill over, my thumbs swiping them away faster than he can close his eyes. "So um. About this trip," I start, trying to distract him as much as myself. I try to compose myself and find it harder than I anticipated. "Would I get to meet your sister?"

"Of course." His fingers touch the corners of my eyes and he nods as if he understands how hard I'm trying not to cry. I can feel his head fall against my shoulder, his hands lifting to press against my neck to hold us together. "She'll love you. She might try to get you to look over her plays and stuff if you really care about editing. She'd love that."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," he nods. I rub his back for something to focus on and force my eyes shut to keep out reality. I knew I wouldn't get a chance to visit him, at least not until I graduate. It seems like an eternity away.

"God, I love you so much, I don't want you to leave," I whisper.

"Don't, don't do that."

"I'm sorry."

"I can't, Armie. I can't think about this, okay? Just hold me."

So I do, but I can tell he's crying because I feel the tears against my neck and it only makes my own worse, until we're clutching at each other's skin, trying to hold onto something I'm not sure even exists in the tangible world.

I pull the blanket up and over us eventually, sinking into the comfort of bed and his embrace. There's something about the way he immediately snuggles against me, his face pressing up against my neck as his limbs carefully drape over me—it makes me ache, not my body, not even my heart, but something else. My being, or soul, or whatever it is I have. It's deep in my bones, through my veins, the air in my lungs. I ache for him, every ounce of him, in every way, for the past I'll never see and the future I know I'll have to fight for.

"I want a dog," Timmy whispers. "A shelter one, though." I shift so I can look at him, his face so close to mine that the tear stains on his cheeks catch the glimmer of moonlight streaming in. I use my thumb to brush them away. "When I graduate and get my own place, you know? If I do, I mean I guess maybe it's better to live at home for a little while, but I really want my own space." His fingers curl around my wrist as he sniffles, leg tucking tighter around mine almost protectively. It doesn't really occur to me at first what he's doing, but he strokes up and down my arm, biting his lip, his eyes shining, and it starts to sink in. He's trying to create a future in his mind for us, to really try and imagine it. I feel a wave of fresh tears that make him whisper " _no no no please don't"_ while wiping them away as he climbs completely on top of me, his face resting against the side of mine, one hand wiping tears while the other smooths over my hair.

"Do I get to help you pick the dog?"

"Yes." His lips press against my neck and he leans up to look into my eyes. I try to memorize him in this low light, the way he seems to reflect any light around.

"Okay," I nod. "Then we get a dog, what else?"

"You move in, because it makes sense."

"Of course."

"And we'll talk every day before that so it won't be weird or anything, and you can help me run lines and I can… I don't know, what do you need me to do? Help you study, I can help you study."

"You could be my study partner." It's overwhelming for no reason, the mere thought of having him be around for the little things like that make it hard to focus on anything.

"And we could go pick out bedding and stuff," Timmy whispers, his fingers tracing little patterns over my chest. I flip us over and kiss the spot over his heart. His skin is so soft, I wonder if it'll always be this soft as I skim my nose alone his chest to kiss the base of his throat. "And you could come home from class and kiss me."

"I'd do more than kiss you."

"You'd do more than kiss me," he nods. "And we'd burn dinner." I laugh and kiss him before he can add on, before this moment slips away. "And you'd look at me like that," he mumbles when I pull back, his fingers pushing hair off my forehead. "And tell me you love me."

"I _do_ love you."

"And I would be so happy." His lip quivers, eyes fill on impact of the words leaving his lips. "Don't let them hurt you," he whispers. "You have to be so strong if they find out. Remember that it's worth it, because I won't be here to keep reminding you."

"I know." I hate the finality to his words, the sense of loss.

"And you have to remember that Vik is there as a resource, too. Don't shut down when you start to doubt yourself, he seems like he really gets it." My breath stutters out of me when he traces my lips with the pads of his fingers, sniffling a bit. "You can keep my shirt if you want. And I'll write you letters and we can talk. But Armie, I know this guy whose parents found out about him and they sent him to some boarding school and I never heard from him again and I know that it's really tough sometimes, so please just… don't go inside your head, don't make your anxiety worse by hiding, _please_."

I can't take it anymore, the tears fall out of my eyes and slip down my cheeks onto his chest as I move to hold his body to mine. His hands rub my back to calm me down and I can't believe I've only known him less than a week. He's a part of me, how has he not always been here?

"It's not going to be easy, baby. Now you know who you are, so it's going to be a lot harder to deny around them. Certainly you're going to feel nervous and that anxiety isn't going to go away so I need you to please just take care of yourself. You have to remember that this felt good, okay? Because I've been there and I know sometimes you can convince yourself that maybe you really aren't gay because it's terrifying to not know what the world looks like once you leave the closet but I don't want you to stop being yourself because I _love_ who you are and," he pauses, takes a deep breath. I feel numb, yet somehow my body so warm with his words. I hear him swallow and move so I'm on my side facing him, his body mirroring mine as he pulls my face closer to kiss cheeks, my temples, his lips really just ghosting over me.

"We'll be okay," I whisper, because he's said it so many times and I feel like he needs to hear it, too. "It'll be fine. You're right, we'll talk and I'll find a way to come see you or something as soon as I can. It's only a few months."

"Yeah," he nods, his lips pressing against mine. "Some couples go way longer."

"Exactly." He can't seem to decide how he best wants to lay with me, restless in his actions until he finally whines and pulls himself back on top of me, his body covering mine as my arms wrap around him and adjust the blanket around us. "Don't let me fall asleep, I want to stay up."

"Tim, you'll be exhausted," I mumble, glancing at the time.

"I don't care."

We end up swapping secrets, trying to find ones that will make the other laugh, things that are lighthearted to distract from the growing ache. We end up side by side again, then me over him, him over me, the two of us swapping space and kisses so frequently that time seems to stop.

At some point, he becomes determined to find any and all of my ticklish spots, his fingers sneaking along my body with a smirk, laughing when he finds the spot near my ribs, my inner thighs just above my knees. He kisses the spots and hides under the blanket when I try to get him back, the two of us wrestling under the covers until he kisses me to stop me and curls up against my chest with labored breathing.

"Tell me you love me," he whispers.

"I love you."

"Say it again."

" _I love you_." He hums and moves to his side, pulling on my arm so I'll spoon him, the contact intoxicating even in my tired state of mind. 

"Again."

"I love you," I laugh, kissing his shoulder, eyes threatening to shut.

"I wish I could wake up in your arms every day." My mind runs away with the thought, the exhaustion I feel making it difficult to do anything but drift into a daydream, or is it just a dream, of waking up to him ten years from now. "Armie?"

"Hmm?"

"I love you so much," he says, squeezing my hand over his heart. It feels me up with so much warmth to hear him say it, enough warmth that I think it might sustain me for some time. I can tell he's drifting because he shifts down into the covers and pulls me closer, lets out a little sigh. "Maybe just a little sleep," he mumbles, the words almost slurred.

"Sweet dreams," I breathe against his shoulder with another kiss.

"Hmm. Goodnight, baby."

"Night, baby." He hums again and I can almost hear the satisfaction in it as he presses his head back against my shoulder. I can see him smiling, eyes closed, blissed and probably already a little asleep.

"Love you." His voice is so airy and soft, his body sinking against mine as he falls asleep a moment later.

I mean to watch him for a moment, to soak up this look of fondness on his face, but my eyes slip closed, my breathing evens out, and I'm a lost cause with him in my embrace.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not over yet, yall...


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> goodbye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay folks. Grab some tissues. I love all of you, thank you so fucking much for going on this journey with me. I wouldn't have been able to write this story without all of your support and love. This fic means so much to me, and you're all a part of that <3

"Get up! Get the fuck up!"

I startle awake, sit straight up. Timmy rolls off me with an _oomf,_ my heart racing out of my chest. Vik is pacing in the light of my now open door. "Fucking, can't believe today of all fucking days… Armie!"

"I'm up! Jesus!"

"What's going on?" Timmy mumbles, gripping my blanket up against his chest, eyes wide.

"Dad must know you were faking it."

"What?" My mind is still asleep, slow to come to attention. I have no idea what's going on but my anxiety is off the charts. I look over at Timmy and he shifts to wrap his arms around my waist wordlessly, his cheek leaning against my shoulder. My hand covers one of his and I take a deep breath, trying to stay calm.

"You know Julia? From the kitchen?"

"Julia, girl you've been trying to screw Julia? Yeah?"

"Well I went for a run and when I came in I saw her and she said she got into work a few minutes before and Mom was down there demanding they make some fucking super food smoothie or something for you, she thinks Mom's going to come up here. Like _now_."

"How—but—"

"Dude you have to hide him." My hand tightens around Timmy's and he kisses my shoulder.

"It's okay," he whispers, kissing me again. My alarm clock goes off and for a moment, all I can do is stare at it. The noise doesn't feel real, I keep waiting to wake up, for this to be some sort of dream and the alarm clock with wake me.

"Jesus, just—come on, wake up!" Vik says, lunging over to hit it so it stops. "Armie, look. I can try to stall but if you're in here—"

"I know, I know," I nod, swallowing. "Fuck. Okay. Can you give us a minute?"

"Dude you only have—"

"Vik! Please!"

"Yeah, yeah, sure. I'll go stall if she shows up." He shuts the door behind him and I fall back against the bed, my breathing labored. I try to think through the situation, try to find some sort of answer I'm not sure exists.

"Armie, look at me," Timmy mumbles, leaning over me to touch my cheek. "It's going to be okay." I can't even breathe, my heart is too fast and my body is going cold and numb. "You need to put some clothes on, okay? Just put something on and then go out to the living room. It's going to be fine." I close my eyes and nod, pull him on top of me for a tight hug before rolling us over so I'm on him, my lips pressing against his briefly before I get up and start pulling on sweats and a hoodie. "Breathe," he reminds me, and I nod to show I heard him.

When I'm dressed, I lean over to kiss him again, my hands shaking as I hold him. "It's going to be fine," he says again, running his hands over my hair. I try to believe him when I walk away, shut my door, and start pacing the living area where Vik is seated, leg bouncing. He stares at me door then at me, his face twisted up.

"Vik?"

"Put him in my room."

"What?"

"Just, look. Hide him in my room, Mom's not coming here for me she has no reason to go into my room. Just hide him there, it'll be easier for him to hide. Please, I'm stressing out here."

"Okay," I nod, glancing at our front door before going back into my room quickly. "Put some pants on," I say.

"What?"

"You're hiding in Vik's room, it's just. It's safer. Please," I say, folding my arms over my chest. "I can't do this, okay, please just, put some pants on and please go into his room because I can't, I'm not ready to do this, I can't risk it—"

"Okay, okay, hey it's okay," he says, walking over to me and wrapping his arms around my neck. "It's okay, Armie. I'm not mad, I'll go," he kisses me and I nod against his shoulder, hug him briefly. He pulls back and shuffles into his pants quickly before following me out and running over to Vik's room.

The knock comes less than a minute later and Vik looks at me to see if I'm okay. I shrug and collapse onto the couch, my body feeling completely off.

She tears into the place like a tornado, happy to see we're both awake already, chatting about the kitchen staff from this morning before she moves to fuss over me. "Oh honey, what's wrong? You look pale," she says, pressing her hands against my forehead.

"I'm fine," I lie.

"Oh god, you're warm. Do you feel nauseous?"

"Mom, I'm—"

"Here, drink this and see if it helps." Thank god for Julia, I think as she pushes a smoothing towards me.

"I'm not hungry," I tell her, but take a sip to appease her anyway.

"You must have gotten a bug. Have you felt this bad since the migraine? Maybe I should take your temperature, I think you're sweating, oh honey."

I stare at Vik and try to keep my breathing even. I can't stop imagining Timmy leaning against the wall of his room, his arms around his bare chest, listening to this. My mother must sound so kind to him, so concerned. I can almost hear him saying _maybe she would understand_ , though he'd never push the issue.

"Armie? Okay, that's it. I'm calling your father."

"No!" She looks at me, alarmed at my outburst. "No, no I'm fine, Mom. Don't call him." The only thing, the _only_ thing worse than this situation is if he shows up, too.

"Well, I think you might really be sick, sweetheart!"

"He's just going to tell me to suck it up, it's fine, Mom. I'll be okay." I need her to leave, I can't handle this stress. She stares at me, her brows furrowed.

"I think you should take the day, honey." Wait. _Wait._

"What?"

"Maybe you need some rest, I'll handle your father. Just stay here and get some sleep. I'll have the kitchen send up some soup for you, okay?"

I look over at Vik who stares wide eyed at the turn of events. "Okay…if you're sure…"

"You look feverish, honey. I don't want you to get any of the guests sick if you're contagious, okay? Just sleep it off."

I nod slowly. "Yeah… that might actually help," I say, wondering if I would really get away with this. She fusses a little more but leaves eventually and assures me she'll handle Dad. She makes me get back in bed and I silently thank Vik for moving Timmy as she grabs a damp washcloth to place over my head when I've gotten under the blanket. She leaves shortly after and for a long moment I just lay there and stare at the ceiling, wait for the shoe to drop.

"Armie?" Timmy calls from the doorway, his hands on either side of the frame. I let out a sigh and throw the blankets off of me and go towards him in three long strides, his face in my hands and lips on mine in an instant. "I told you, it was fine," he mumbles, kissing my cheek, my temple, pulling my head against his shoulder. I nod against him and hug him tightly, feeling an overwhelming amount of relief.

"Hey, not to interrupt but…" I pull away from Timmy to look at Vik as he shuffles his feet. "I'll shoot you a text if I see either of them going to the elevator. I'm sure they'll put me in the lobby if you're out."

"Thank you," I nod, Timmy's hand in mind.

"Um…I need to get ready. So I'll see you uh… I guess… It was nice to meet you, Timmy," he says, nodding awkwardly. Timmy squeezes my hand hard and thanks him, tells him it was good to meet him. I have to walk away when Vik tells him to have a safe trip home, and Timmy follows me a moment later after shutting my door.

His hands press against my shoulder blades and I can feel him snuggle up against my back, his arms slowly snaking around to rest on my stomach. "We have more time now," he says softly. "That's good."

And I know it is, I know he's right. That I should be happy right now. But it's bittersweet.

"I don't want to leave bed," I tell him.

"Okay," he laughs, his face rubbing against my back a little. "I'll have to go back to my place to finish packing but that won't take long."

"I'm going with you if you do that," I tell him, turning in his arms to touch his face and kiss him. "Fuck, Timmy," I mumble, his arms moving to wrap around my neck and pull himself closer to me.

"I know, let's not talk about it, okay? Let's just be here."

I take a few deep breaths and nod, allow my hands to trail over his back and feel the ridges. We crawl back into my bed and he hugs me under the blankets, his head resting against my shoulder and the somewhat gathered material of my hoodie. His lips are just close enough that they reach my jaw if he tilts his head right, and each time he does it I feel a little better.

He's always the one who fills the silence with his stories when we're like this, all full of emotion that we're not sure how to properly express. For the first time, I feel him struggling next to me, his labored breathing and fingers tightening in my hoodie occasionally. I know the weight of keeping me afloat is hurting him now, that he's been the brave one here for too long and he needs me.

My hands slip through his hair, down his back in sweeping movements to comfort him. I tell him about my childhood and our family vacations growing up. He starts asking me questions and I let him, I answer them, try to be as honest as I can be able the mundane things he cares about right now, like the kind of toothpaste I use or my favorite bands.

We kiss at some point, but it's lazy and his fingers are light against my jaw or twisting in the strings of my hoodie. He snuggles against my neck a lot, at one point pushes my arms above my head and holds my hands like that, his body strung out over mine. I let him take the comfort he needs because it occurs to me that everything he does makes me feel better, too.

My body is covering his, my arms snaked under his shoulders and neck, knee deep in a story about the play I was in during middle school when his phone rings. I reluctantly pull myself away from him and let him answer, kiss his shoulders and neck as he talks, his head falling forward to give me more space. It's his mom checking in, making sure he would be ready to leave on time. When he hangs up, he kisses me like he means it. Like he'll never forget it.

He wears one of my shirts and the hoodie I'd been wearing all morning when we have to go to his room, his actual clothes tucked into a bag that I carry. He kisses me against my bedroom wall beforehand, tries not to cry. I'm less successful.

He lets us into his suite and smiles at his parents when they see us. Nicole's face breaks out in concern and she walks over to give each of us a big hug, and I barely stop my tears when she rubs my back and tells me it'll be alright. He tugs me into his room and hangs around my neck when the door shuts, his fingers in my hair.

We barely have any time, now. Just enough for him to gather his things and kiss me breathless, his hands on either side of my face. "I love you so much," he tells me, and then tells me again, and again, each time between kisses that make me want to sob.

I say it back until there's a knock at his door and he has to go. "I'll call you when I land, okay?"

"I'll be waiting," I tell him, his hand still in mine.

I watch them leave, Timmy turning to hug me one last time before his dad reluctantly tells us it's time.

I sink down on the bed he barely slept in, search the room for any sign of him before giving up and walking back to my room.

Vik finds me hours later after his shift ends. He tells me he's sorry from the doorway of my room, the lights all off, my blanket covering all of me except a sliver so I can breathe.

He calls much later, his voice sleepy and so fucking comforting that it makes me cry the second I hear it. We talk for an hour before he starts drifting off to sleep and I have to tell him to go.

I don't talk at work the next day. He texts me and it helps, but it's not the same and I find myself walking around in a haze, waiting desperately for a ping that will signal another message.

 

 

We fall into a pattern, talking at night, texting during my breaks, and it helps. I feel like he's still around in some ways. He sends me pictures wearing my clothes sometimes, facetimes me wearing nothing at all. I finish my college applications and send them off, tell him Merry Christmas and facetime him during our lodge's New Year's Eve party for hours.

He tells me that he got hit on at school and when our classes start back up, says that it was so exciting because he got to say he had a boyfriend. I wear his shirt to bed that night and replay the memory of him saying that for the first time.

It gets easier in some ways, harder in others. He's there, he's always there, and that's what really matters. The ache for him stays, but so does the love.

The more time that passes, the more certain I am that we will make this work, somewhere, somehow.

He is the one my heart was made for, made _with_ , and no time or space will ever convince me otherwise.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is the epilogue (dont forget theres a sequel tho!!), I'll tell you that right now. It'll come sometime this week after I've had time to go through and make sure it's exactly how I want it. I love you all, thank you so much. 
> 
> (also there is a very specific reason the "post timmy" bit is so short. It starts a slight shift in the narrative which you'll to notice again. Armie without Timmy is very much going through the motions, which is part of the reason the narrative is a little... I guess, almost stunted there at the end.)


	20. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They Know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need to say some things before you go on to the epilogue. I struggled with this after I wrote it. I did it all in one sitting after writing the first couple of chapters in the sequel (yes, I wrote those first!!) and it felt like the necessary step for Armie's character arc int his story. I've been planning this since chapter 11, and there have been things that were scattered into the story knowing this would be where we'd end up. Trust that there is a purpose to everything in this fic. 
> 
> That being said, the content of this chapter will be hard for some of you to read. If any of you have had a difficult time coming out, PLEASE read this at your own pace or skip to the comments and ask for a brief recap instead if you feel it's too much for you. I won't be offended, take care of yourself first. 
> 
> The other thing I want to share with you is the music that inspired this story. I listen to a lot of things while writing this, but there are two songs that have shaped this story a great deal. It began with "Heaven" by Troye Sivan, and then "Revelation" by him as well. These two songs more than anything have shaped Armie's story in this fic, and if you want more insight, listen to them back to back and see the shift in those lyrics-- that's the shift Armie experiences in this story start to finish.  
> Thanks again, and I'll see you on the other side.

_It's a revelation_  
_There's no hell in what I found_  
_No kingdom shell_  
_How the tides are changing_  
_As you liberate me now_  
_And the walls come down_

_-Revelation, Troye Sivan_

* * *

* * *

 

 

"Why are the Chalamet's sending us things?"

 

It had been innocent. _"Please, just one shirt. This one isn't enough, I need one for when I'm washing it_." It had made me laugh at the time, his neediness for my stuff, his little smirk when he asked, the way he bit his lip because he knew it made me crazy. I sent him one, sent him a few actually—I wanted him to have whatever he wanted to remember me by. If that meant clothes to sleep in, then he could take them all.

The best part of my night was when he'd facetime me, sleepy smile plastered on his face, my shirt or boxers on his body as a reminder. Sometimes I'd wear his shirt, but it was too small and I honestly preferred to wear nothing. But on the nights when not even his voice could pull me away from missing him, it was the only thing that helped.

He asked at least once every couple of nights if I wanted a new one, but I never felt like it was okay to ask. Because I knew, I knew there would be precautions to him sending me anything, and I hated the reminder that I was still hiding, not only myself, but him as well. He didn't mind, he'd say. He'd wait forever. But I couldn't do it to him, continually expose him to the reality I faced every day in this house when he was surrounded by so much love and acceptance in his own.

I'd had a rough couple of days at school and I think that's why he did it. He called me one night and told me he sent me something to cheer me up, _"Please don't be mad_ ," he'd said. How could I, when all he wanted was to make me feel some level of the love I felt when he was here?

I didn't expect it to arrive so soon, to arrive through the main lodge's mail system. 

I look up at my mother, startled, panic setting in.

"What?"

"They sent a package," Mom muses, turning it over in her hands. I know what's inside, the size alone giving it away.

"Oh, that's actually—"

"I didn't realize we made such an impression," she smiles. I watch as her hands start sliding under the corner edge.

"Mom, actually, I think it's addressed to—" I get up to take it from her but she steps back.

"Manners, Armie. I'll open it."

" _Mom_ —"

"What is this?" she mutters, a Yankee's shirt falling into her hands. I freeze as she unfolds it, her hands lifting it up as if seeing how big it is, a piece of paper falling out of the folds. I lunge for it, terrified. Adrenaline courses through my veins as she meets my eyes while I stand up straight, her eyes flicking down to the paper in my hand and back to the shirt. My breathing is labored, the sound of rushing water pouring over my ears and senses as she stares. "Give it to me."

"It's not for you," I say, voice tense. My entire body is shaking but I know well enough by now that it won't stop until I'm alone and can calm myself down. I try to count to five to center myself but know it's no use as she grips the shirt in her hands, confusion all over her face.

Her voice is curt, eyes turning hard as stone when I don’t immediately do as she says. "Give me the letter."

" _I can't do that_." Her eyes scan my face and I know she sees it, the desperation I must show. She looks sad for a moment, but it shifts to something else quickly. Pained. Betrayed. I try to make my voice work but it refuses. Everything feels cold, my knuckles white around the paper.

"Go to your suite."

" _Mom_ ," I whisper, steadying my voice with the low tenor.

"Give me your phone, and go to your room." I can see this is no place to debate, the eyes baring into mine hurt and confused.

"I can explain—"

"Can you?" She laughs, grips his shirt tightly in her hand before throwing it across the room. I have to fight every nerve in my body to stop myself from sprinting after it. I succeed only in failing to keep my eyes from wandering to it, lingering. " _Please_ , Armand. Give me an explanation that isn't what I think this is. I'm waiting." My eyes close tightly and I realize it's no use, she'll know I'm either lying to get me to admit the truth regardless. We were only just pretending anyway, we all knew the truth; they just liked to pretend it was a dream, not reality, where I was gay.

"I'm sorry," I murmur, because a part of me believes that I _am_ sorry, sorry for lying, for sneaking around, for hiding myself, for letting her down. A small part of me for being gay, for any of this ever happening despite knowing I had nothing to do with how I am. The regret and guilt eats at me anyway, too many years of being told _it's wrong_ seeping in and poisoning the water. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." The more I say it, the worse I feel, like I might throw up. I don't mean it, not the way she thinks I do, yet I can't stop saying it.

"I can't look at you," she spits out, her words cutting with an edge to them I haven't heard in a long time. When I look at her, I notice her arms are folded, her eyes glued to the wall to my left. "Get out."

"Mom, please—"

"I don't want to look at you!"

"I'm still me! Mom, it's still _me_ ," I say, voice cracking as I move towards her.

"That boy filled your mind—"

"Don't talk about him like that," I plead, tears falling from my eyes. "Mom—"

"Don't you dare," she turns to face me. "I did not raise you like this."

"No, I wasn't raised to be gay, Mom." My voice shakes, her eyes widening in horror at my blunt words. "I just am."

"Stop it this instance. I will not listen to you defend this lifestyle."

"Mom!"

"Stop it! Stop!" I stagger back at the pain in her voice. "Do you think this is okay?!" She stares at me for a hard minute while I try to settle my heart rate. "We thought you had learned your lesson, had chosen to give this up. I am so disappointed—"

"I can't stop being me!"

" _YOU_ are choosing—"

"I'm not choosing this! Do you think I want you to hate me?"

"I will not have this argument with you," she says, calming instantly with a clenched jaw and lifted chin. "I will discuss this with your father and we will decide what happens next."

 

 

I've lost track of how long it's been, my eyes stuck on the wall of my bedroom, the door to my left, ignored, his letter laid across my lap. I am devoid of all feeling, a heaping lifeless form meant only to exist to be scolded, to wait for the harsh words that will come each day until I leave.

I know already I will not be permitted to speak to him, will have no contact with any man, will be forced to go to extra church meetings with our pastor. It's Matthew all over again, the process I went through then will be repeated with more fervor this time, perhaps even a camp. I'd heard of the camps, my parents discussed it once right after they found out about the first kiss. Too extreme, they'd determined. Nothing would be too extreme now, not when I'm sure my father will barge in and destroy the words he sent me, but not before reading them for himself, see the descriptions of how much he missed me, how he was hoping I made it to New York, how he was in my sweater and thinking of me, that he _loved_ me. My father will tear it to shreds and report back to my mother, no doubt an even more exaggerated version of his words without the evidence to back it up. Would he search my room, would he pull my phone records, read my texts? I might as well leave now if so, if he could see the things Timmy tells me, that I tell him, the words we exchange in the middle of the night when the loneliness takes over.

The usual anxiety I feel over my sexuality is gone, nothing left but emptiness as I await my sentence.

 

 

The door opens and I close my eyes, my hands pressing against his letter one last time before folding it into my pocket moments before my bedroom door opens. "Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

"No, sir," I mutter, because I don't. I don't have any words for anyone, for anything. I just want Timmy. He would hold me close and tell me I'm okay, that there's nothing wrong.

And I'd believe him.

"Very well. I don't think it needs to be said, but you are not to speak to him. Any contact between you and the Chalamet boy will not be tolerated, are we understood?" His voice is cold and detached. I hate him. The least he could do while attempting to ruin my life is show some sort of remorse, _any_ emotion at least. I'd even take joy, that would feel more real that emptiness.

"Or what?" I ask, my voice surprising me with the bitterness that seeps into it. He's quiet for a moment, the only sound his feet shifting. I finally turn my head to look at him in the middle of my room.

"Do not. Test. Me."

"Or _what,_ Dad? What will you do to me?" Suddenly I need his anger, need to understand. Maybe if they destroy this relationship, I won't feel so much guilt for hating them. If he's going to tear apart the one thing keeping me together, he might as well have the decency to tell me how far he's willing to take this. I know my disobedience will not be looked kindly upon, but Timmy is the one thing that matters in my god forsaken life. My body shakes with anger, with pain.

He takes a deliberate step towards me, eyes hard, hands in fists. I shrink back intensively, but the blow doesn't come. "You do not want us to take extreme measures," he tells me, his voice even but harsher than before. "You will go to church, you will not have a phone, you will respect our rules. You will never speak of him or this ever again." I clench my jaw as he steps closer. I can finally feel the tension rolling off him, the anger. "We will never hear of this ever again. If you speak to him, you will be cut off, no questions."

"I can pay my own way," I say, voice smaller than I want. His eyes flash and I regret the words.

"I don't think you understand," he says. "Do you want to test my connections?"

And then it clicks, his real meaning of _cut off_. Financially, yes. But he went to Columbia and Yale. He studied at top universities, had friends everywhere, his hands in admissions departments across the country. I wouldn't be allowed to support myself because he would destroy the bridges I'd need.

My eyes fall.

"Good. You're starting to get it."

"Dad, _please_."

"Your mother knows a nice girl—"

"I'm not doing that!" I object, my heart racing. "Please, don't do that."

"You will take her out and behave as you should."

"Dad."

"Your applications will go out and you will get into a good university where you will live a _normal_ life." I bite my cheek until I taste blood, but can't let up. The pain dulls the screaming in my mind.

"You will marry a nice girl and we will never speak of this sin again."

"I can't do that."

"What was that?" He glares at me, giving me a chance to retract. I can't, though. If I don't fight him now, will I ever?

"I don't care what you think," I tell him.

"You should."

"This is who I am! Do you hate who I am?!"

"This is not who you are."

"Dad! Listen to me!"

"You will behave like I raised you!" he roars suddenly, my body seizing up in panic.

I feel like I can't catch my breath and my eyes are watering but I refuse to back down in my desperation. "He is the best fucking thing that has ever happened to me. Do you hate that I'm happy?!"

"You're upsetting your mother," Dad says, voice even. He's planning his next attack, I can see it, but I don't care.

"Well, she ought to be upset," I mutter. "You want to blame this on him, but guess what? I've been gay my entire life!" He flinches at the volume of my declaration. "And it's not because of him, it's not because of Matthew. It's not even because of the two of you. I just _am_ ," I say. The tears in my eyes spill over when I see they won't waver in their beliefs. "I don't expect you to understand, you've made it perfectly clear you don't want me to explain it anyway. But I don't want to hide anymore, Dad. I want to be myself," I tell him. " _Please_ don't do this."

"You will follow the path we have set for you."

"Dad!"

"Armand, this is not up for discussion."

"You can't—"

"We've already taken your phone." I glare at him. My hands fist at my sides when he adds, "Next it'll be your laptop. You'll leave the house when you graduate. It's either to college or it's to a facility. You decide."

"I'll go see him." My heart races and I have to fight, all I can do is fight. I can't accept this reality.

"With what money?" he asks, stepping towards me.

"Dad, please," I beg, tears flowing angrily. "I can't change who I am." I can't lose him, I can't stop talking to him. If they take this from me, I don't know what I'll hold onto. Viktor's support can only do so much. I want him, _I miss him_.

"Then I suggest you learn to control yourself," he says. It's curt. He's decided, then. He turns to leave but not before tracing a hand along the edge of my laptop. It's a warning, one I understand clearly. Reach out and lose more privileges. Mom's probably already seen the texts on my phone, Dad would before the night is over. I may not have any chance when he sees them, he may decide I'm not worth any more effort at all.

I wait until he's left my room before I break down. After the tears pass, I reach for my laptop; even if they find a way to hack it, I still have to tell him. I pull up facebook and message him quickly. _"Parents figured it out. They took my phone. PLEASE do not text or call. I don't know if they'll use it against me. Need to lay low. I don't know if I'll get to talk to you again for awhile. I'm so sorry, I love you. Wait for me."_ I send it and hit my head against the wall, the dull ache a subtle distraction.

His response comes after my mind has wandered too far. " _this is my fault isn’t it? God I'm so sorry baby I love you so much don’t forget that hang in there it'll be okay I am so sorry."_ I can't bring myself to reply, my emotions too muted to stave off the inevitable crash I feel coming. 

When Vik comes back from his shift, he finds me still curled in on myself on the floor. "Fuck, what happened?" he asks, running over to me.

"They know. _They know_."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Armie and Timmy will return in "An Ode to the Boy I Love" on March 6th, 2019.


End file.
